


The Adventures of Mirrorverse Vortex

by ultharkitty



Series: Portals AU [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good version of Vortex from a mirror universe ends up on Earth in the regular G1 'verse. Without his team to back him up, and surrounded by evil Decepticons, his only chance is to pretend to be their Vortex. At least until he can escape. But things don't go as planned, and romantic entanglements are as hard to avoid as his enemies' guns.</p><p>Contains explicit sticky and non-sticky smut, graphic violence, past trauma, some h/c, and consent issues (between Vortex and Swindle, all other pairings have explicit informed consent). Further advisories will be posted at the beginning of future chapters where needed.</p><p>Nice!Vortex is pulled from a Shattered Glass AU where the Cybertronians haven't yet made it to Earth. The worldbuilding of the mirrorverse is based on the first SG comic and some of the later material, and borrows very heavily from naboru's <a href="http://moebiusschleife.livejournal.com/1011.html#cutid4">Disillusion AU</a>. The characterisation of the evil Protectobots is mostly naboru's, and the characterisation of the good Combaticons was a joint effort. The worldbuilding of the regular G1 'verse is mainly taken from the G1 cartoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vortex landed face down in the mud. This was new. It squelched in his seams, organic and squishy and soft, and very unpleasant.

Apparently, this was what he got for flying through a mysterious swirling portal with no idea of what was on the other side. Lovely.

“Hey, rotors, you psycho glitch!” someone yelled.

Vortex groaned. Was that yell aimed at him? Something bounced off his helm, a small rock by the feel of things. He looked up; who on Cybertron would do a thing like that?

A mech was glaring at him, an unpleasant grin on his face. “What the Autobots do, repaint ya?” Laughter boomed, and not the pleasant kind. But before Vortex could respond, someone else cut in, quiet and urgent.

“Shut the frag up, you wanna get sliced and diced like on that squishy food show?”

You wanna _what_? Why would he do that? And what was that about a repaint?

Vortex heaved himself out of the mud, and looked down. His white bits were still white, and his blue bits were still blue. Well, white and blue with a good deal of organic muck, but no-one had repainted him. He glanced over his shoulder just in case, but his rotors were as white as they’d ever been. Still, something wasn’t quite right.

There were Decepticons all around. Good, that was what he liked to see. Lots and lots of Decepticons. And a few Autobots in chains, shivering, heads down. Also good.

But why did everyone have such odd paint schemes? He sighed and scraped the mud from his visor. Had Dead End organised a ‘make Vortex think he’s fallen in that mirror universe’ day or something? Because that would be amusing and motivational.

Unless that portal… But no, he couldn’t have.

A large ‘con spoke. “All right, let’s haul aft.” He looked like Astrotrain, but the harmonics of his voice were different. And the angle of his wings, and the set of his mouth. Even the shape of his feet, while similar, was not quite the same.

That didn’t bode well.

And neither did the rest of it; the organic setting, the brightly-painted, cowering Autobots, the richly-coloured Decepticons with purple insignias.

This was that place Cliffjumper had told them about – the _good_ Cliffjumper. The one who wasn’t dead.

Scrap.

* * *

The ride back to the Decepticon base was, in all honesty, the most terrifying half joor of his life since he and his team had escaped the Protectobots. He shouldn’t have got on board Astrotrain, but he hadn’t known what else to do.

Sitting with his back against the hold wall, he kept expecting the Vortex of this reality to show up, the one with the markedly different colour scheme and apparent propensity for chopping mechs into teeny little pieces and hiding them in other people's rooms. The one who was frequently greeted with ‘hey, psycho copter!’ if the speaker was out of arm’s reach, and stony silence if they weren’t.

Not that many people got within arm’s reach. A few got shoved there – the hold was pretty cramped – but they didn’t stay for long.

At least people didn’t seem to expect him to say anything. They just kept glancing at his hands.

Vortex could only hope that he’d somehow been swapped with their copter. There’d be fewer inconvenient questions, and he’d have time to work out how to get away.

Which he had to do, and soon.

For one, they were evil. He’d heard Cliffjumper’s stories, both from the mech himself, and from Sideswipe when Cliffjumper finally found his way back home. These guys were bad news.

And for a second reason, in case he needed one: he had no idea where he was currently headed, or what would happen when he got there. He had no idea what these Decepticons’ protocols were, or how well the ‘psycho copter’ adhered to them. And there was the horrible possibility, no the horrible _likelihood_ , that he’d run into the psycho copter’s team at some point. Four mechs who were emphatically _not_ his own, and who would know instantly through the gestalt bond that he wasn’t who everyone else thought he was.

It was a relief that he couldn’t feel them already. Should he close his side of the bond or not? He had no idea. Would the psycho copter close himself off? Would it give him longer to run if they had just a moment of confusion before realising that he was an impostor?

His rotors quivered. The mechs closest to him edged away.

* * *

It wasn’t much better at their destination. Astrotrain’s hold wasn’t exactly built to see out of, so he sat through the jolts and lurches, the odd noises and the weird feeling of pressurisation, without any idea what was actually going on.

At least he knew the mech transporting them was called Astrotrain; he’d heard several ‘cons talking to him, including one who he was willing to bet would be called Blitzwing.

If, as Cliffjumper had suggested, everyone here had the same names, if would make it easier for him to pretend to fit in, at least until he could find a way to escape.

“File out!” Astrotrain snapped, his voice buzzing over his speakers. “Debriefing in one joor.”

Debriefing? Oh scrap. Vortex waited until the other mechs had disembarked before getting up. How in the Pit was he going to play this one? Amnesia? It was a total cliché; people would see through it, they’d take him prisoner… He cut that line of thought before it could go anywhere; he had to think positively, or he’d never get back home.

Taking a slow, deep vent, he stepped down from Astrotrain and glanced around. The hangar was full of immense, heavily-armoured and _very_ heavily armed warriors. Amnesia was worth a try, right?

He wouldn’t have to pretend much; he really didn’t know where he was, or where he should go next. There was no consensus in the crowds, with different people headed off in different directions. Which direction was debriefing? Would he be missed if he just didn’t turn up? Everything looked so familiar, but so alien, like Dead End really had got everyone to paint themselves bizarre colours, and was about to leap out of a side door and yell ‘surprise!’.

Embarrassing as that would be, Vortex would have welcomed it.

He tried to stop his rotors twitching and failed. Scrap, he really needed to get a handle on that; he didn’t need people to know how nervous he was. Luckily no-one remarked on it, not that anyone said anything else to him either. In fact, people seemed to be moving away just a little faster than before, giving him glances he could only describe as wary.

OK, this was probably about the right time to leave. He could find somewhere secluded, a maintenance corridor or a storage closet, and hide for a while, think through his next move.

Vortex considered each of the doors. Why did there have to be so many? He wasn’t good with strategy. He was fine with the fighting, and OK at following plans, but slag on a stick, he wished Onslaught was here. _His_ Onslaught. He’d know what to do.

“Tex Tex Tex!” Something bounded at him, and he yelped as it slammed its fist into the side of his arm.

Ow, _slag_. “What?” he said, impulse taking over after he caught sight of the mech and his processors threatened to shut down.

“Hey Tex! Hey, you got a repaint! Why the slag you get a repaint? You look like an Autogeek! You got all mud in your vents! Why’s your visor all blue? We got us a Protectobot! Can I help you ask it stuff? Can I?”

It was Brawl. Oh no no no, this really wasn’t good. Vortex wanted to be wrong, but… No, it was certainly Brawl. The booming voice, the excitable orange optics, the complete and utter lack of tact. Everything his own Brawl wasn’t, but everything Cliffjumper had told him that the Brawl of this universe was. And if that wasn’t enough evidence, the gestalt bond chose that moment to ping him, _Proximity to team, combination sequence dormant_. But this wasn’t his team, it was the psycho copter’s team. How in all the universe could he sense anything of them along the gestalt bond?

But he _could_ sense Brawl, a fiercely vibrant buzz of energy and happy violent impulses, and three others, not quite as intensely, but they were there, their energy signatures transmitting an encoded signal – vital signs, online or in recharge, general state of health – all for the gestalt only.

“Can I frag him,” Brawl leered. “C’mon, we can do him together, it’ll be awesome!”

“What? No!” Vortex spoke before thinking. His rotors began to twitch again; it was only a matter of time before Brawl noticed who he was. Or rather, who he wasn’t.

“Awwww,” Brawl complained. “You never let me frag your toys.”

Thank scrap for that, Vortex thought, although the term ‘toys’ gave him a very queasy feeling.

“You let Blast Off frag ‘em, I know you do!”

And that was far too much information. Vortex realised that he’d lost control of his rotors again. Which might have been a good thing, as it appeared to be driving everyone else away. Everyone but Brawl, who seemed to have the processing power of a maintenance drone and the persistence of an energon leech.

Vortex put the brakes on his train of thought. That was a mean thing to think, even if this Brawl was as reprehensible as he appeared to be.

“So, you wanna go shake him up a bit?” Brawl said.

Shake who up a bit? Oh, yeah, the Protectobot. Vortex didn’t want anything to do with Protectobots, not even alternate universe good ones who probably didn’t deserve for him to want to rip them limb from limb. “Uh,” he replied. “I’ve got to go to debriefing?” Scrap, that sounded lame.

“C’mon!” Brawl said, giving him a little shove. “Debriefing’s for the grunts! No one’s gonna miss ya’!”

Really? Vortex closed his mouth, even though it was hidden behind his mask. He wasn’t a… grunt then? The thought that he didn’t have to be debriefed was too much to hope for.

“Sign for this,” a large mech growled, and Vortex jumped as a datapad almost hit his visor and something hard and cold landed in his palm.

It was a few links of chain. At the other end, a Protectobot glowered.

Vortex almost ran. Almost, but not quite. He hit the over-ride to his ventilation, and deactivated his fans. He couldn’t do anything about his rotors, but that might be OK considering twitching seemed to mean ‘stay the slag away from me’.

“Uh, sure,” he said, desperate to keep his voice level. He pressed the requisite buttons on the pad, so very grateful that their glyphs were so similar to the ones he was used to back home. He could think of nothing else to do.

The large mech laughed nastily, baring his denta at the prisoner. “Have fun, little ‘bot.” Then he was gone.

“Hurhurhur, yeah _fun_ ,” Brawl said to the Autobot. Then, more brightly, to Vortex, “So, where you gone take him? Workroom or somewhere better?”

Nowhere? Vortex thought. Somewhere a very long way away from me, where I don’t have to look at him, or be in the same space as him, or – ember forbid – talk to him. “Uh, workroom?” he said.

Brawl sagged, but only a little, and only for a fraction of an astrosecond. “Hey! Swindle said he won all this high grade off Wildrider and we’re gonna get so overcharged.”

“That’s nice.” Vortex made himself look at the Protectobot. Two wheels, strange tan and white paint scheme, dark helm, no facemask; Groove. At least it wasn’t First Aid; he didn’t think he could cope with that.

Not that he was sure he could cope with what _was_ coming.

“Looking ain’t gettin’ us any closer to laid,” Brawl said, nudging him in the arm. “We movin’ or what?”

Vortex gave the command for his vents to begin cycling again; the heat was starting to make him dizzy. “Yeah, whatever,” he said. “You lead the way.”

* * *

It worked. He had no idea how, but it worked. Brawl took him straight to the workroom, and even coded the door lock for him, then got pinged by someone else and took off.

Vortex thought he should be worried that the someone else appeared to be Swindle. He couldn’t be lucky enough that this Swindle was just as slow on the uptake as the psycho copter’s Brawl appeared to be.

And thinking of the psycho copter, the workroom really wasn’t what he’d expected. There were no racks of gleaming tools, no blades or drills or even a screwdriver. Just a table and a couple of chairs, one of which had restraints.

Groove whimpered, then turned it into a cough. Vortex fought the urge to shoot him in the head, and forced himself to remember that this wasn’t the Groove from his world, it wasn’t the mech who’d locked them all away, who’d taken their freedom, their bodies, their sanity. Who’d put them in sensory deprivation, isolated from the world and each other and…

Not the same mech at all, but Vortex was still trembling.

He scanned the room for bugs, mainly to distract himself. And for hidden cameras, microphones, anything that might be used to record him. There was nothing. Or at least there didn’t seem to be.

He dropped the chain and backed up against the wall. He assessed which areas to shoot if the Autobot came near him, if he tried anything. But he wouldn’t, he was one of the good Cliffjumper’s Autobots, and he was obviously terrified.

“You won’t get anything out of me!” Groove blurted, then winced, as though he knew what a tell that was. And Vortex realised that he was giving him the silent treatment, that for Groove the interrogation had already begun.

He pressed his back against the wall to prevent the shuddering of his rotor blades and drew a long vent of cooling, calming air. _Here goes_ , he thought. “I’m not who you think I am.”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains explicit sticky smut - non-consensual due to mistaken identity.

It took a while, but finally Groove seemed to believe him. It was the story of Cliffjumper that did it. Details about the Decepticons back home, and things Cliffjumper had said about himself, about his Autobots. Things the Vortex of this world would be unlikely to know.

Against his better judgement, Vortex sat close. He spoke in whispers, adopting slightly threatening body language just in case there were cameras he hadn’t spotted. Groove followed suit, speaking without moving his lips, cowering and trembling. It wasn’t pleasant for either of them. But they endured it.

“We need a way out,” Vortex said, eventually. “If I…

Someone thumped on the door. “Hey, rotors!” Oh slag, it was Swindle. “Your comm’s not working! Lemme in!”

Vortex glanced from Groove to the door and back again.

“Escape,” Groove murmured. “We should do that.”

Before Vortex could reply, the door opened.

“What do you know,” Swindle said brightly. “I got an override key!” He took in the scene, the two sitting close together on the floor, the chain trailing in loops by the Autobot’s leg. He grinned. “Don’t mean to interrupt or nothin’, but I got you that thing you wanted. I told Brawl to tell you, but I guess he forgot.” He threw something small and grey in Vortex’s direction. “Nice paint job.”

Vortex caught the object. A laser scalpel. Was this planned? Something to scare the Protectobot? And that look on Swindle’s face, a toned-down version of Brawl’s leer. But it wasn’t directed at the prisoner.

“So,” Swindle said. “Your shift ended fifteen breems ago, you really wanna work all the time?”

To Vortex’s relief, the Combaticon didn’t approach, he just stood there, and it took Vortex a few astroseconds to realise that Swindle was uncertain. He didn’t actually know whether Vortex wanted to stay and work, or go and do whatever it was he had planned. Something to do with that high grade. Something that the psycho copter might or might not prefer to whatever it was he did during interrogations.

“Prisoner’ll still be here next duty cycle,” Swindle said, and there was just the tiniest hint of pleading in his voice. He laughed as though to hide it. “Well, if you tie him up.”

The gestalt bond pinged again, not a proximity notification this time, but an emotional state indicator. Vortex had no idea how the scrap that still worked, and for a mech he’d never met before in his life. But it did. Not like it worked for his real team – or like it had worked with Brawl back in the hangar – there was no intuitive knowledge here, but it told him things, gave him insights: Swindle was needy, a little lost. Vortex wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Gimme half a breem,” he said, and the look on Swindle’s face made his ember ache. He wasn’t sure he liked that either. Sympathy for the devil – a phrase that Cliffjumper had used once or twice – wasn’t something he wanted to entertain. Still, Swindle slunk out, leaving him alone with Groove.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” Groove shrugged. “And it’s true what he said, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll try and find you some fuel.” Vortex wrapped the end of the chain around one of the restraints, making it look as though it was bound without actually binding it. He had no tools to remove it completely. “We’ll find a way out.” _Even though you’re a Protectobot_ , he continued to himself, _and just looking at you makes my armour crawl_.

Groove nodded. “Lock the door tight,” he said.

* * *

Swindle was waiting in the corridor. “You been having fun in there?” he asked, casting a meaningful glance at Vortex’s rotors.

Vortex realised he was giving off the ‘stay the slag away from me’ signals again, and tried to bring them under his control. He changed the passcode on the door, so that Brawl couldn’t break in while he wasn’t around, and turned back to Swindle. Who was still looking at his rotors, although with a disappointed cast to his faceplates.

“Overcharged,” Swindle said. “We should get it.”

Vortex didn’t know whose room they ended up in. Could have been Swindle’s, could have been Brawl’s, could have been the psycho copter’s own. It was tidy, with only a few objects lying around: a tub of wax, some cloths, a small self-maintenance kit. Nothing all that personal.

“Yeah,” said Swindle. “Could’ve given us bigger rooms. Y’know, until they finished rebuilding HQ. But anyway.” He kicked open a closet, bathing the room in the deep pink glow of good quality high grade. “Thirsty?”

Scrap yes, he was thirsty, and the fumes coming off those, even with the lids still sealed… They smelt amazing. But there was no way he could have any. What if his face was different? What if it made Swindle catch on to the fact he was the wrong copter, a fact he really should have noticed about two breems ago?

The lighting dimmed by 40% or so, and Vortex tensed. “What’s glitching?” he said, glancing up at the fixtures.

Swindle shrugged. “Nothing. Thought it was better like that.” His optics grew incrementally brighter. “For drinking and stuff.”

There was that ping again: ‘needy, uncertain, hopeful’. Swindle passed him a small cube of a distillation that appeared to be potent in inverse proportion to its size, and leant against the cupboard next to him.

“I really do like the new paintjob,” he said, and it was unclear whether he meant it or not. “It’s very ‘lets confuse the enemy while looking as hot as possible’.” He took a swig from his own cube, then a larger swig. He seemed to be trying to work his way up to something.

“Um, thanks?” Vortex said, and instantly regretted it. The bond pinged him again; ‘disappointment, frustration’. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder what Swindle was receiving. Confusing signals, perhaps, things he couldn’t decode or understand. Things that were causing him to glitch a little.

“I, uh…” Swindle drained the rest of his cube and reached for another. “You’re not drinking, drink up!”

Vortex retracted his mask, keeping the cube high to cover his face, and drank a little. And wow, it was good, sliding down his primary intake hose like greased sunlight. And heady too. So good that he completely missed what Swindle said next.

“What?” he said. He was scared to say anything more. He didn’t know the psycho copter’s speech patterns, he had no idea what idioms he’d use, what colloquialisms he favoured, or the extent of his vocabulary. Erring on the Brawl side seemed a sensible move.

“Slag,” Swindle huffed. His shoulders slumped. “Can’t you come through on a promise just once in your life? Huh?”

“What promise?” Oh no, now he was in for it. People didn’t forget the promises they made.

“What do you mean ‘what promise’?” Swindle wailed. “ _This_ promise, you lying, no-good tease of a fraggin’ copter!” He went over to the computer console by the door and flicked a switch. The screen lit up, showing a perfect image of Vortex’s face. Only it wasn’t his face, it was the _other_ Vortex’s face.

An image of Swindle loomed in the background, looking overcharged. “Do it! I wanna record o’ this!”

“All right, all right!” the other Vortex said. His lips curved in the most terrifying smile Vortex had ever seen, and his visor flashed. “I promise,” he began, and the image-Swindle behind him started to laugh. “I promise, on this really _really_ full cube of super distilled high grade, that if my stupid, useless team mate gets me any more of this, I’ll let him ride my spike until he’s so sore he can’t even walk. There, shortaft, you happy now?”

Swindle flicked the switch again, killing the screen.

Vortex glanced at the door, wondering if now would be the time to run. But he couldn’t do that, not to Swindle. Not even to this Swindle. Talk about awkward. “Oh,” he said.

“Oh?” Swindle snapped. “Is that all you can say? ‘Oh’? I don’t give a flying _scrap_ if you forgot! You fraggin’ _promised_. Took me all fraggin’ month to get that off Wildrider, and then the sneaky little slagger ran off with my pleasure drone. _And_ I had to put up with Dead End whining all the time and Breakdown and his dumb little speech impediment and they’re all fraggin’ glitched! Just like you!”

Vortex didn’t know what to say, and the image of Swindle squirming on his spike really didn’t help. He tried to find at least a few appropriate words. But none of the scenarios frantically running through his processor worked out well. And besides, Swindle was genuinely hurt. Not just disappointed, but offended. Bitter too. Vortex had the urge to reach out.

Swindle glared up at him. “Why is it other people make your rotors shake and I don’t?”

Vortex managed to suppress the ‘huh?’, although his look of confusion must have been obvious. Rotors shaking? Swindle wanted to scare him? Then his processor caught up with his audios and he almost dropped the cube. So _that_ was what quivering rotors meant.

Well, that made sense. Horrible, creepy, disturbing sense.

“You do,” he said, just to attempt to mitigate the damage. But that too was the wrong thing to say. A new ping: ‘hopeful’ again, ‘pensive, pleased’. Then it all changed, as Swindle appeared to engage his processor. Vortex didn’t blame him; how could he hope for fair treatment from a team mate who called him stupid and useless?

It wasn’t right. Not just how the other copter treated him, but how this mech looked so much like _his_ Swindle. Even the purple bits were the same, and those optics… He shouldn’t look at them, shouldn’t be looking at all. This was all wrong.

“But you won’t interface with me,” Swindle sighed. “Yeah, I get it. You know how to hold a fraggin’ grudge, you know that?”

Against his team? Never. But he had to remember who Swindle thought he was talking to; the creepy grey glitch who would probably not just hold a grudge, but fabricate one from absolutely nothing and still make Swindle feel as though it was all his fault.

“Can’t you ever get over that?” Swindle wailed. “I mean for one stupid, slaggin’ astrosecond? I bought you all back didn’t I? Even got Brawl back outta that dumb-aft squishy robot.”

OK, perhaps not spun from nothing. But still, whatever Swindle was on about can’t have been bad enough to treat him the way his Vortex evidently did.

“Yeah,” Vortex said. He drew the high grade fumes in through the vents on his helm, as though they might help him think more clearly.

“Yeah _what_?” Swindle continued to glare, his optics over-bright.

“Yeah, I’m over it,” Vortex said. It was what Swindle wanted to hear. Probably what he needed to hear. But Swindle just shook his head.

“Liar,” Swindle whispered, just as the programming pinged him with ‘disbelief’. Then, “Prove it.”

The thought of interfacing made itself present again, and Vortex fought to suppress it. This wasn’t his team mate, he needed to remember that. It would be dishonest to… to what? To seduce him? To give him what he so obviously wanted? Because he wouldn’t be getting what he wanted in the long run. Not really.

But it would make him happy. At least for a little while.

Vortex knocked back the remainder of his cube. It was seriously good stuff, warming each and every part of him before it even reached his tanks.

Wasn’t all happiness temporary? he thought. Shouldn’t he try to bring it about wherever he could?

“All right,” he said, and smiled. It wasn’t a copy of the cruel, thoughtful smirk of Swindle’s actual team mate from the vid clip, but a genuine smile all of his own. He took the empty cube from Swindle’s hand and laid it on the nearest surface.

He didn’t realise he’d forgotten all about Groove.

Swindle didn’t move, his mouth open slightly in surprise. ‘Shock, awe, trepidation’, the gestalt bond revealed. Desire too. Had Swindle ever interfaced with his own copter? Given the expression on his face, Vortex doubted it. But surely he would know what his own Vortex was like, or at least have some expectations. Not to mention hopes. And Vortex was sure they didn’t involve bouncing around on a spike until he damaged himself.

Not that a little bouncing around wouldn’t be good. Or a lot, provided they were careful. This was, after all, for the good of the team.

“All right?” Swindle echoed.

“Yeah,” Vortex said quietly. “All right, I’ll prove it to you.”

It didn’t take much to get Swindle over to the berth. Getting him to relax, however, was far more difficult. It was as though he expected Vortex to lay back, retract his cover and say ‘hop on’ or something equally vulgar. He didn’t seem to have anticipated that Vortex might want to stroke his helm, or his shoulder tires, his windshield, his waist. And he seemed utterly incapable of working out where to put his own hands.

It was all incredibly endearing. Even though a little voice at the back of Vortex’s processor kept reminding him that this wasn’t his team mate, this was the evil version of Swindle, this was a mech who undoubtedly had done some very bad things, and would go on to do worse in the future. And what the slag was he doing interfacing with someone who wasn’t part of his team?

But with Swindle’s vents coming in tight little gasps, his chassis quivering and his pelvic armour heating rapidly, Vortex couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You… really will go through with this, right?” Swindle whispered.

Because the other copter wouldn’t? “As long as you touch me,” Vortex replied, nibbling along the edge of Swindle’s helm. It felt like something his counterpart might do: make a bargain when support and affection would have been a far more appropriate response.

“Where?” Swindle asked, just the slightest touch of panic in his voice.

“Anywhere you like.”

The rotors, it had to be the rotors. His sensors crackled, the impulses feeding straight to his interface array. He lay Swindle back, bending over him, nudging his thighs apart.

Swindle groaned, biting his lip, giving the appearance of someone trying desperately not to talk. But he clung on to the rotors, a good tight grip, and allowed his legs to be spread.

‘Hope, desire, dread’; three interlinked emotions filtered through the bond to flash up on Vortex’s HUD. It was as though Swindle was afraid he was going to stop, that he’d take him this far, then flash that evil grin and leave.

Maybe the psycho copter has done that before.

Vortex certainly wasn’t about to. Maintaining eye contact, he said, “Ready?”

Swindle nodded vehemently, bucking his hips. His panel opened, auto-releasing as a new flood of desperation and need showed clearly through the bond; shame followed hot on the heels of desperation, lust hot on the heels of need. Vortex pressed their lips together, trying to force out the shame, and pushed Swindle into the pliant covering of the berth. He gave the command for his own panel to open, his spike sliding free with a soft hiss. Swindle’s hands left his rotors, felt along his shoulders and back, clasping and stroking and tugging Vortex ever closer to him.

Slowly, Vortex eased a finger into Swindle’s valve. Then another, as the heat of Swindle’s spike pressed against his abdominal armour. The light was low enough that he could imagine that yellowish green paint was a different shade entirely, that those wide, glossy optics belonged to a mech he’d coupled with more times than he could count. A mech he missed horribly although it had barely been a day since they’d last spoken. A mech who would expect him to ease a third finger into his valve, stroking up to his ceiling node, gathering just enough charge to make Swindle clench around him.

Vortex’s spike throbbed, an urgent need that shook the rest of his systems. His valve too, but the deal had been for a spiking, and Vortex so wanted to spike him. He twisted his fingers slowly, raising more charge, contacting more nodes, stretching the opening just enough that entering him wouldn’t hurt him, then withdrew.

“Don’t go!” Swindle mouthed, but Vortex was already sliding into him. He didn’t pause to think about what those words meant. How could someone be so cruel to their own team? He didn’t want to know. He thrust gently, slowly; the press on his spike was amazing, the full enormity of what he’d just done only then hitting him.

But it was too late to stop. It had been too late to stop the moment he’d arrived in the room.

“Oh, frag yes!” Swindle bucked under him, hips rising to meet his, hands trembling where they slid along the surface of his rotors. Not that Swindle could reach much of those, but the rough scrape of his palms was more than enough to make Vortex shudder and sigh.

“You like that?” Vortex asked, and Swindle gave him a look so sharp, his optics narrowed in suspicion, that Vortex resolved to shut the scrap up from now on in. But when the slow, gentle rhythm continued, Swindle’s suspicion drained away, and with it his dread.

Cautiously, Swindle wrapped his legs around Vortex’s hips, his feet jouncing uncomfortably against the leading edge of two of Vortex’s rotors. It was as though he still expected Vortex to leave, and was seeking after some way to ensure that he didn’t.

Thinking back to the vid clip – although he _really_ didn’t want to remember that twisted grey smile at this particular moment – Vortex wondered whether he’d chosen the wrong position. Sure, Swindle was enjoying himself, his arousal clear in his every little shift and whimper and sigh. But he wasn’t in control, and maybe he needed that, considering who he thought he was ‘facing.

“You wanna go on top?” Vortex asked, and the sudden clench of Swindle’s valve around his spike told him he’d made the right decision this time.

“Yes, oh frag yes!” Swindle unwound his legs and scooted back. Cool air tingled along Vortex’s spike, not exactly unpleasant, but serving to reduce the charge that had already built. His rotors ached where Swindle’s feet had scraped them, and not exactly a good ache. But he could forgive that, Swindle wasn’t to know. And the evil Vortex would almost certainly have deserved to get hurt.

“How do you want me?” Vortex asked, responding to ‘uncertainty, arousal, concern’ more than anything Swindle actually did.

“Sit up, let me… oh yeah…”

He sat on the edge of the berth and Swindle straddled him, not pausing to prepare himself, but slamming down over Vortex’s spike as though he actually wanted to be sore after.

“Ugh, yes!” He gripped Vortex’s shoulders, his knees on the berth, and took on a quick, frantic rhythm, his face pressed against Vortex’s throat.

“Mmmmmm…” Vortex held him, lightly, his hands shaking as they skimmed over his team mate’s hips. No, not his team mate. He had to remember that. The psycho copter’s team mate. But if he took his optics offline and focussed on the squeezing hot pressure rippling up and down his spike, he could very easily imagine that this Swindle was his own.

Altogether too easily.

“Feels so good,” he whispered.

“Frag yeah!” Swindle groaned into his throat. “You’re all… unf… full of surprises, ain’t ya?”

“You have no idea.”

Swindle came loudly, yelling a stream of expletives that could probably be heard through half the ship. The charge tore through Vortex, almost an afterthought, reflexive and heady as the quality high grade. He clung to Swindle, gripping him tight, holding him still as he would with his own team mate, lost for a moment in the rush of current.

“Slag yes,” Swindle moaned. Then he squirmed, clenching his valve, and Vortex knew he was teasing out every last moment of pleasure that he could. ‘Satisfaction, trepidation, dread’, the bond told him. Dread? Perhaps Swindle thought this was his one chance, perhaps he feared that now Vortex had come through on his promise, that he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

“Mmmmm…” Vortex got a grip on Swindle’s hips. “You can keep on doing that.”

Dread changed to relief, pleasure, a renewed surge of desire. Vortex let out a long, shaky sigh. At last he was doing something right.


	3. Chapter 3

He awoke with Swindle’s mouth around his spike. His processor snapped from the fug of rebooting to fully alert in a fraction of an astrosecond.

“Whu?” he managed, looking down to see knowing purple optics staring right back up at him. Oh wow, that was good, so warm and tight and – no! This wasn’t _his_ Swindle. And for frag sake, he’d been in recharge, Swindle hadn’t even asked him! Didn’t stop it feeling nice though. He tried not to buck his hips; this wasn’t the sort of thing he should be encouraging, but ooooooooh hot damn his insides were melting.

//You like that?// Swindle commed him. The gestalt programming pinged him with, ‘hope, trepidation, arousal’.

“Unf!” Yes, he thought, but arg, there were things he should be doing. He was in the wrong universe, he’d left the good version of Groove alone in an interrogation cell all recharge cycle, and this universe’s native version of Vortex could turn up at any moment. What the scrap had he been thinking?

Swindle’s head bobbed, that warm tight pressure turning into moving, undulating warm tight pressure.

Oh yeah, that.

He clung to the berth, fingers digging into the soft covering. He couldn’t disappoint Swindle, not when he was going to such an effort to ingratiate himself. And oh slag, what an effort. Vortex tensed, helm back and hands trembling as Swindle continued to suck and lick and tease, bringing him to the verge of overload, but drawing back before the charge could peak, his denta scraping lightly across the tip.

//Wanna frag?// Swindle said.

“Uhuh!” _Yes, absolutely and completely_. The answering ping of ‘pleased, anticipatory, needy’ from the gestalt programming seared all thought of the lone Protectobot from Vortex’s mind.

“Want you on top,” Swindle said. He was more confident that the previous evening, pushier. He threw himself on his back, beckoning Vortex with the least subtle ‘come on’ expression Vortex thought he’d ever seen. Not that he needed the invitation, the click and hiss of Swindle’s valve cover was far too tempting to refuse.

There was no fear, this time, no dread that Vortex would leave, just a mild trepidation that blinked on and off in Vortex’s HUD and then faded completely as Vortex eased his spike home with a succession of gentle, slow thrusts.

“Mmmmmm…” Swindle writhed, bucking and stretching. His optics darkened as he cut all visual feed, then whispered, “Faster. Frag me like you fragged Brawl that time.”

Vortex seriously hoped that his own moment of nervousness didn’t show through the bond. He picked up his pace, Swindle’s valve clenching around him, tighter than was safe, but feeling oh so very good. He had to guess, how would the psycho copter go about interfacing with Brawl? Not kindly, Vortex thought, and not slowly.

He increased his pace until the room echoed with the clank of armour. Swindle’s writhing was delicious, his occasional muttered expletives amusing. Vortex bent to kiss his optics, thrusting hard, aware that he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for much longer, but holding on as long as he could.

“Mmmph, oh frag yes yes yes!” Swindle yelled, squeezing Vortex’s spike so hard that he yelped, dark patches spreading over his visual feed.

It helped, that moment of pain, pulling him back from overload, allowing him to slow just a little, teasing it out before grinding Swindle into the berth, slamming into him quickly, harshly. It felt like ‘facing while overcharged, like that time he and Onslaught and Blast Off had underestimated the potency of Octane’s home brew, and had spent an enthusiastic loud and giggly evening shut in a storage locker.

He’d ached after that, and he was going to ache after this, but it would be worth it.

“ARGHHHHH SLAG YES!” Swindle screamed. Vortex tensed, holding still as the charge peaked and then surged, spilling right the way through him, through the both of them, leaving him gasping for air, shuddering and sighing. He slumped, trying not to crush his team mate – no! _Not_ his team mate, how did he keep forgetting that? He propped himself on his elbows, his spike twitching a little in Swindle’s valve, the over-sensitised nodes still crackling.

“Nice wakeup call,” he said, before he could remind himself that the evil copter almost certainly wouldn’t say anything so pleasant, nor so genuine.

“Mmmm,” Swindle responded. “Y’know, I like you in white. Makes you look all innocent.” He grinned, bucking his hips.

OK, that was an insight into this Swindle that he wasn’t sure he wanted. Still, he could rest here a while, his spike happily sheathed in the comforting warmth of his almost-team-mate, the tiny vibrations of Swindle’s engine tingling through his interface array. He wondered how to go about inviting Swindle to spike him.

“Oh frag,” Swindle said.

Vortex tensed again, the gestalt bond informing him ‘urgency, concern, dread’. “What’s up?”

“Uh, you seen how late it is? Frag frag frag!” Swindle wriggled out from under Vortex, not giving him time to move. “Onslaught’s gonna beat me into the next _vorn_. Oh frag.” Swindle grabbed a cloth and wiped himself down. He glanced at Vortex, his expression pained. “Slag, you’re hot,” he whispered. Then, “It’s all right for you, you got that cushy indoor gig. The rest of us are on power plant patrol. What fraggin’ fun.”

Cushy indoor gig? Oh no, Groove! Vortex sat up, trying to force his spike to retract. Which it wouldn’t, great, just what he needed.

“Hey,” Swindle perked up, eyeing Vortex’s exposed component in a calculating way. “Don’t s’pose you’re up for a repeat later?”

And now his spike _really_ wasn’t going to depressurise. “Sure,” he grinned, about an astrosecond before it hit him that no, he couldn’t. He was escaping today, with Groove, he wasn’t going to be around later. “Only I, uh…” But the look on Swindle’s face was too much, his disappointment registering in a little flashing message on Vortex’s HUD. “I might be a bit late,” Vortex said. “You know what? I think we should get Brawl in on this, it’d be fun.” And then, when Vortex didn’t show, hopefully Brawl and Swindle would be so busy they wouldn’t notice.

Swindle gave him a look like this was the best thing he’d heard all solar cycle, and winked. “Can do,” he said.

“Just don’t wait for me,” Vortex said. “I might be a while, with the prisoner.”

Swindle’s engine revved, his status changing from ‘pleased, anticipatory’ to ‘curious, aroused, envious’. “Just don’t wear yourself out,” he said. Snatching up a few data sticks, he threw the cleansing cloth in the vague direction of the waste chute and left.

Vortex slumped back on the berth. Oh damn. This wasn’t going to be easy, not at all.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The door to the interrogation cell had begun to open before the thought hit Vortex that the _other_ Vortex might have come back while he was away. The evil copter might have picked up where he left off, might have done all kinds of things to Groove while he was wrapped in the arms of the evil Swindle, happily oblivious and totally irresponsible.

Fuel raced through his systems, his rotors quivered and his fans clicked on. But when the door opened, Groove was huddled in the corner, a coil of chain wrapped around his fist like a weapon, his faceplates set in a determined grimace.

“It’s just me,” Vortex said, and closed the door behind him.

Groove continued to stare.

“Oh scrap, yes, energon. Hang on.” Vortex slipped out again. Now, where had he seen an energon dispenser? He’d spotted one somewhere, he was sure. He’d just have to wander around, remembering to keep a log of exactly where he was relative to the room, so he didn’t get lost trying to get back.

A message flashed up on his HUD, ’01:30 GMT, my desk, Onslaught’.

Onslaught! Finally. Maybe the rest of his team had found the portal too and were coming to fetch him. He probed the gestalt link, examining the four energy signatures and the associated information. Onslaught’s was weak, probably due to distance, but the more Vortex probed the more it became obvious that it wasn’t his commander, it was the evil copter’s Onslaught.

His shoulders slumped and his pace slowed. He read the message again, trying to make sense of it. _What_ about his desk? The numbers looked like a time – a human way of measuring things, Cliffjumper had talked about it – but what was a GMT? Great mechanical something? Vortex had no idea. No time to puzzle it through, though. This wasn’t his Onslaught, and he was on a quest for energon. For Groove, he reminded himself, who was not evil.

Unlike everyone else around here.

“Uh… Vuh… Vortex! Um… Hi?” A blue and cream groundframe with faceplates the colour of a toxic sunset gave him a nervous smile. Vortex had no idea where he’d sprung from, but he gave the impression of a mech who desperately wanted to get back there.

“Hey,” Vortex responded automatically. The grounder’s smile gained a suspicious edge. Drat, being too friendly again; the evil copter would never act that way. “After energon,” he said. “The, uh, dispenser’s out near… where I’m working?” And if that didn’t sound stupid, he didn’t know what would. He braced himself for the attack and denouncements that would surely come.

“Haven’t got any high grade,” the mech responded. “Gave it all to Swindle.”

High grade, yes! Swindle’s room!

“Octane, he’s uh…” the mech trailed off. “Swindle said you’d get him for me. I paid and everything.”

Vortex paused. “He what?” he said.

“Oh slag oh slag I knew this was a bad idea! Dead End said it was a bad idea, but Wildrider said Swindle said if Motormaster wasn’t around and we were having problems and we had enough high grade to pay and…”

This was the evil version of Breakdown? Not entirely absorbing his words, Vortex leant over the mech, giving him a closer inspection. Wow. It really did look like Breakdown; the colours must have thrown him off.

Breakdown’s engine revved, spreading a queasy feeling through Vortex’s systems. “You’re gonna back off now,” he said, a tremor in his voice to match his engine. “I paid, right, Swindle said you’d get one over on Octane if I paid. He didn’t say you’d go acting all creepy like.”

“Oh, sorry,” Vortex said, stepping back. “I just, uh, yeah. Sure, I’ll sort it for you.” Swindle was running a protection racket? _His_ Swindle? He wanted to bang his helm against the bulkhead; he was _not_ his Swindle! When would that actually sink in?

Breakdown watched him leave, and Vortex had the urge to go after Octane there and then. But he had duties to perform. 1. Fetch energon from Swindle’s stash. 2. Supply Groove with enough to refuel, and get some fuel into himself while he was at it. 3. Make it to Onslaught’s office by the appointed time and – no! He did _not_ need to make it to Onslaught’s office, he needed to make it off this ship to that swirly portal thingy and back home to his team.

If the swirly portal thingy was still there.

And if he could remember where ‘there’ was.

Back at the interrogation cell, Groove was still hunched in a defensive crouch, ready with the chain. And he was still staring.

“Are you, um,” Groove began, giving Vortex a quick, grateful smile as he took the fuel. “Are you all right?”

Vortex nodded. “Sure, fine. I mean, homesick but I’ll live.”

“Uh… OK.” Groove said. He cradled his cube. “They didn’t… _do_ anything to you, did they?”

Vortex shook his head. “No.” He took in a bit of the fuel, trying not to feel guilty for having stolen it from Swindle. Hang on, Swindle… Who he’d spent most of the night with, and a good portion of the morning… Oh no. He glanced down, then wished he hadn’t. Glossy white paint, it showed up everything. “Um,” he said. “It’s not what it looks like?”

“O _kay_ ,” Groove replied carefully.

“I mean, it _is_ what it looks like, but… it’s not. I didn’t mean to, it just… happened?”

Groove’s jaw dropped. Eventually, he said, “You know what? I’m not even going to ask.” He knocked back a good quarter of his cube, his optics flashing bright. “Woah, hot scrap that’s got a kick!”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It was all I could find.” Why hadn’t he thought to check for scuffs? He always checked for scuffs back home.

Groove re-sealed his cube and stashed it away. “OK,” he said. “We gonna do this?”

Vortex nodded, a thrill of anticipation tingling through his logic pathways.

“All right then,” Groove said. “ _How_ are we gonna do this?”

The thrill vanished, replaced by a queasy feeling similar to that brought on by Breakdown’s engine. “Um… How about I lead you out like I’m moving the prisoner or something? That’ll work, right?”

“Then what?”

“Then we escape!” Vortex drained the rest of his cube, and looked around for a waste chute.

“We’re underwater,” Groove said.

They were? That explained a lot.

Vortex went over to a promising section of wall and poked it. Then leapt back, as the section swung around, revealing a comprehensive and utterly horrible selection of tools. “Um, uh…” He pushed the wall back into place; that really wasn’t what he wanted to see. “Your water’s not made of acid here, right?” he said, happy to pretend that had never happened.

“Not all of it,” Groove replied. “You don’t do tactics, do you?”

Vortex shook his head. Tactics were Onslaught’s thing. He slumped to the floor, the empty cube landing beside him with a clatter. He wished Onslaught was here, wished that the faint life signals he could feel through the gestalt bond belonged to his own commander, not the psycho copter’s. But wishing wasn’t going to help them escape. He rubbed at a yellow-green streak on his hip. “What would you suggest?” he said.

“I dunno,” Groove said. “Sure, we can pull the old ‘moving the prisoner’ stunt, but that’ll only get us so far. We’ll be better sneak-” Vortex missed the rest of what he said, as a loud and tinny crackling filled the room.

He was on his feet, lasers aimed at the door, weapons systems powering before it became obvious that they weren’t being attacked, the crackling was only a tannoy.

“Tower will raise in one breem. Repeat: tower will raise in one breem.”

“Soundwave?” Vortex said, but Groove was already hustling him towards the door.

“This is our chance,” he said. “They’re gonna raise the tower, which means we don’t have to swim. We just need to get to the tower, stow away until they open it up, then fly off. You do, uh… Those rotors of yours aren’t just for show right?”

Vortex flicked his blades, and tried not to cringe away from Groove. “Yeah,” he said. “I fly.” He took the free end of the chain, and wound it around his fist. “Now?” he said.

Groove nodded. “Now.”

* * *

Vortex tried to remember the route he’d taken the day before.

He wore confidence like a good wax polish, walking upright, keeping Groove far closer than he was comfortable with. The psycho copter would have no issues with personal space, and so he couldn’t either. He let his rotors vibrate, for once relieved that their movement signalled something other than fear. And it worked. People looked at him, then looked away. No one questioned him, although a few gave Groove openly hostile or calculating glances.

“Doing good so far,” Groove whispered, and Vortex replied with a muttered “Uhuh.” He _really_ wished Onslaught was here. Onslaught knew how to put together a plan; he knew how to look for strengths and weaknesses in a strategy, he knew how to guide and direct, and – Onslaught was standing about fifty mechanometers in front of them, his twin gun turrets gleaming under harsh strip lights.

Vortex froze, caught between relief and stark, cold fear. The gestalt programming pinged him with ‘boredom, apathy, distraction’, but it wasn’t Onslaught, it was Swindle, standing next to Onslaught and kicking the ground, little flecks of white at his every curve and corner. And Brawl was beside him, grinding his fist into his palm, a gleeful cast to his visor.

“Quick!” Groove hissed, and tugged them both behind a pile of crates. “They almost saw us!”

Vortex’s rotors clattered. “Oh frag, oh frag.” They can’t have missed him. And if they hadn’t seen him, they surely would have noticed him, a proximity notice flashing up in their visual feeds just as it did in Vortex’s. But when he went to probe the bond, Onslaught seemed as distant as ever, and the only clear data he received came from Swindle.

“Move it!” a voice boomed through the hangar. “Get the slag outta my way!” Astrotrain shoved himself through the gathering crowd. And wow, there were a lot of mechs. They stood around checking their weapons, or chatting or bickering or looking bored as the day was long, just like Swindle.

Vortex’s ember burned cold for one long and horrible moment. What was he doing to Swindle? More to the point, what had he already done? He’d raised his hopes, given him something he so obviously longed for. But it was over now, and Swindle could never have it again. How long before he realised? Vortex’s rotors grew still, and he huddled down between the boxes. He should never have given in.

But damn, it had been good. And this really wasn’t what he should be thinking about right now. Groove had adopted a defensive pose, the chain again wrapped around his hand. Vortex powered up his weapons, ready to drop his end of the tether as soon as he needed to.

“All right!” Astrotrain yelled. “All aboard the fragging party shuttle!” He transformed, his cargo bay door opening. Vortex watched through a crack between the crates, his optics dimmed so that the light didn’t give him away.

A fresh announcement rang through the hangar, and the floor shook as the tower began to rise.

“Come on, come on,” Grove muttered. “Could it go any slower?”

Vortex couldn’t help but agree. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d got this far, but freedom was so very close and he just wanted to be out of there, in the clear blue sky, flying as fast as his auxiliary engines would power him. He tried not to think about carrying Groove in his hold space. One thing at a time.

It seemed like an eternity until the floor shuddered to a halt, and the massive outer doors cracked open, parting to reveal clouds and a thin patter of rain.

There was a roar as Astrotrain fired up his thrusters. “If you ain’t on board, you’re flying yourself!” he snapped. But Vortex didn’t have time to wonder who he meant, as the crates parted in a tumble of plastic and metal, and the evil Onslaught loomed over them.

“Vortex? What the scrap do you think you’re doing?” His visor flickered, his cannon barrels realigned. “You’re not Vortex.”

Vortex didn’t even think, he fired. Both guns, straight at Onslaught’s face. He grabbed Groove and shot into the sky.

“Vortex!?” Swindle’s voice was almost lost in the roar of coolant and air, and the hot, heavy thud of his fuel pumps.

“Impostor!” Onslaught roared. “After him!”

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

It had been too much to hope that Onslaught wouldn’t notice. And now Swindle knew. And was chasing him. All three of them were chasing him, and Vortex clung to Groove and tried to ignore the fact that Groove was clinging ever so tightly on to him.

A bullet clipped his heel, another put a hole in his canopy glass.

He had no idea where he was going.

The high grade burned hot, more power to his thrusters, but the ocean was immense, stretching from horizon to horizon. Clouds above and water below, and nothing but the drizzly sky between him and his team… _the psycho copter’s team_ , with their seemingly endless supply of ammunition.

No time to transform, no time to do anything but fly as fast as his thrusters could carry him.

“Which way?” he yelled, but Groove didn’t respond, and no wonder with the air screaming past his audials. He realised too late that he didn’t know Groove’s comm. frequency, and he grasped after any local signal, pinging them at random, hoping to hit the right one.

The gestalt bond flashed him with ‘angry, frustrated, disappointed’ just as Swindle’s voice reached him. //So that’s your comm.. freq. Now I get it wasn’t working earlier, you must’ve been laughing. And talking about earlier: what the frag? I mean… Seriously, _what the frag?_ //

Vortex fired up his auxiliary engines, trying to add to the thrust of his root mode propulsion. Why couldn’t he find Groove’s frequency?

//I know you can hear me!// Swindle yelled. //Answer me!//

//I’m sorry,// Vortex said. He should have cut the comm., should have blocked Swindle’s code. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

//You _what?_ // The laser fire eased off a little.

Then it eased off a lot.

Vortex didn’t dare look back. He didn’t dare glance down either; the top of Groove’s grey helm was altogether too close to his chin. Instead, he pushed away the revulsion and the hatred, forcing it down with the guilt about Swindle, the shame and regret that he hadn’t the time to explain, to set things right. Escape was his first priority, he could sort out everything else once the two of them were safe.

//I’m sorry,// he repeated, not sure any more if Swindle was listening. There were specks in the sky ahead, small shapes growing incrementally larger. Groove’s energy field crackled, and Vortex almost dropped him. But he clung on, despite that it made his armour crawl. Most Autobots couldn’t fly – he remembered Cliffjumper’s stories – and it was a long way down to the sea.

Groove’s engine rumbled, accompanied by a lesser vibration, as though he was speaking. Vortex couldn’t hear him above the wind, but it didn’t matter. Groove’s friends had come to his rescue. The specks grew wings, fuselages, glass gleaming with the reflected white of the clouds. Red Autobot insignias. And a stream of laser fire which miraculously passed Vortex by, aimed at his pursuers.

* * *

The next few breems were a blur. Vortex landed in someone’s cargo hold. A large, white mech, whose shape reminded him far too much of Blast Off and home.

He let go of Groove and clung to the wall. His rotors shook and his weapons buzzed. He leaked hydraulic fluid, a warning flashing up in case the creeping weakness in his left leg didn’t tell him something was wrong. People spoke to him, and he wasn’t sure who they were or what to say. People with weapons.

Groove seemed to know how to deal with them, what to say and when to say it. Dizzy and disorientated, Vortex put his back to the wall and tried to pay attention.

“That's a nasty wound,” someone said. “You want to sit down, and I can patch it.”

Vortex shook his head. “I’ll do it,” he said, his arm-mounted lasers still humming. The new mech nodded, and left the field repair kit within his reach. No-one tried to touch him.

The shuttle landed in a place that was as dry as the ocean had been wet, and they disembarked. Small green and brown sculptures dotted the ground, each one unique. There were more mechs, too, people Vortex recognised. Bumblebee and Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Wheeljack and Ratchet. Hot Spot, the Protectobot commander, hauling Groove into a tight, happy hug. And the Prime, in Decepticon red and blue, his azure optics glinting with surprise and mirth, his voice rich with humour and sane intellect.

“Welcome to Earth,” he said. “We are all very grateful for your aid in helping Groove escape.”

Vortex tried not to back away. “Um, glad to be useful,” he said. He tried even harder not to think about the traces of purple and green standing out on his pale paintwork. “I’d kinda like to go home now. Any idea how I get to that swirly portal thing?”

“Not as yet,” the Prime said. “The rift that brought you here closed fourteen joors ago. Perceptor is busy calculating when the next one will appear.”

Vortex nodded slowly, the disappointment a chill around his ember.

“I’m sorry,” the Prime continued, sounding as though he meant it, and in the kindest possible way. “Until we find a way to send you home, I think it would be best for your own safety if you remained with us.”

“With you?” Vortex said. He disengaged his primary engine, trying to stop his rotors from moving. These were the good guys, there was no reason to be afraid.

“He’s a bit twitchy,” Bumblebee commented. Ratchet shushed him.

“You could come with us,” Groove said. “We’ve got a base in a human city. Earth’s great, no reason you can’t get to know the place while you’re here.”

Vortex could think of a dozen reasons, but he kept them to himself.

“Hot Spot?” Optimus said. Vortex held still as the Protectobot commander stepped forward. It would have been so easy to open fire, to transform and shoot up into the hot, dry air. But this wasn’t the mech who’d imprisoned them, he had to remember that. This was the mech who had welcomed Groove back with a warm embrace. Vortex wanted to give him a chance, much as his every synapse and subroutine was screaming at him to let rip with the lasers, to get the scrap out of there.

Hot Spot nodded. “It’s the least we can do.”

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Even patched, Vortex couldn’t walk without limping.

He tried to hide it; there was no reason to show weakness, even among potential allies. He kept expecting them to ask him to remove his weapons, or at least power them down. But they didn’t; and they kept their distance, a little nervous around him as he was a little nervous around them. He wondered if they’d had a run-in with the psycho copter before, then severed that line of thought before it could go anywhere.

“Are you good to fly?” Groove asked. “I mean, it’s not like you can ride in Hot Spot’s trailer, him being a fire truck and all.”

Hot Spot gave him a look. “Are you disrespecting my back end?” But his tone showed that he didn’t mean it, and Groove just laughed.

They travelled in formation, Vortex flying as he would with Swindle and Brawl, matching the grounders’ pace, keeping an eye on their surroundings. He had the urge to leave, to fly off towards the mountains or back towards the sea. Hunt for the portal himself. But the thought of their disappointment stopped him. He didn’t want to betray their trust; it was bad enough that he’d done it to Swindle.

Thinking of Swindle made everything worse.

A warm wind whistled through the holes in his canopy glass, little fragments of toughened silica breaking off to fall in his cockpit. The high grade buzz was long gone, replaced by a nasty, seeping weariness.

He wanted Swindle. His Swindle. And if he couldn’t have his Swindle then he wanted the evil Swindle. To look down into those wide, purple optics, and slide into him, slowly, gently. To bring him to overload, and make him scream for joy. To show him how sorry he was for his deception.

He wanted to lay next to him and believe that he was home.

A horn blared, jolting him from his brief, hopeless fantasy.

A vehicle passed them on the other side of the road. Then another. No life signals, no energy signatures. Inert metal propelled by… something. Piloted. Vortex pulled back, turning on his axis to watch the latest of the little cars and trucks. They seemed so odd and incongruent in the dust of the desert.

Breaks screeched up ahead as Groove and Hot Spot came to a halt.

“Are there humans in those?” Vortex said. He decreased his altitude, the dirt billowing out below him. Cliffjumper had told them about humans. Small organics with big ambitions; they sounded interesting.

One of the cars stopped. A set of tiny digits emerged from a window, clutching a small black box. It clicked.

Vortex reeled back, suddenly very much aware of the meaning of a Decepticon insignia in this world. But the box didn’t fire; it just clicked and then whirred, and clicked and whirred again as the human’s little brown digits manipulated buttons on its casing. Vortex focused in on it, recognising the glass as a miniscule lens, the plastic which flicked over it a shutter. Just a camera.

“Um…” Vortex gained a little altitude. “Hi?” he said.

A face pressed against a different segment of glass, eyes wide and mouth open. Sand battered the car’s paintwork, and flew in through the open window. Vortex transformed and landed, the air settling around him. “Hi!” he tried again.

“Wow dad, can I open the window please, I wanna see, dad please!”

“OK, Sara.” The camera dipped, revealing a smiling face framed by curling black hair.

One of the car’s doors opened, and the smaller human tumbled out. “Dad, look, cool! Are you Blades, you’re Blades right? Why’d you change your paint? Are you in disguise? Have you been fighting? You look like you’ve been fighting. I bet you’ve been doing all kinds of cool hero stuff!”

“Uh…” Vortex glanced at Groove, who was grinning. “Not Blades?” he said.

“Oh wow, are you new? Are you a Decepticon? You got a Decepticon thing on you. Have they like captured you and stuff? Are you a prisoner?”

Vortex took a small step back. To either side of him, other vehicles were slowing down, their operators leaning out of windows and sunroofs. “No?” he said.

“Hey there,” Groove stepped in. “He’s new in from Cybertron, he’s been on a top secret mission. Very hush hush.”

“ _Wow_.” The human bounced on her heels. “You’re really big up close, like even bigger than on TV. Can I have a photo with you guys? Please!”

“If we’re quick,” Hot Spot said. “We’re holding up the traffic.”

They weren’t quick. One photo with the small human led to another, then another as more people got out of their cars and wanted to pose with Groove or Hot Spot, or with Vortex even though they had no idea who he was.

Eventually, a van with a dish on the side and an array of complex equipment rolled up, and Hot Spot proclaimed that it was time to go.

It was good to fly again after standing around for so long. Especially here, where the land radiated heat, and the sky was an open, calming blue above him.

“They like you,” Groove said, when they were clear of the humans and the tailback they’d caused.

“They’re very friendly,” Vortex responded. He wasn’t sure it was a good thing; what if an evil Decepticon painted himself up like an Autobot? The humans would have no chance.

“They sure are,” Hot Spot said. “OK, we’ve got another half a joor to go, then we’ll be home. If any of the news crews try to talk to you, either of you, best leave the talking up to me, OK?”

“Sure,” Vortex said. He would have wondered how he could tell which humans were a ‘news crew’, but the mention of ‘home’ tripped him straight back down the highway to thinking about Swindle. And about Blast Off and Onslaught and Brawl, and the other Decepticons back on Cybertron. Were they waiting for him and wondering where he was? Had they taken in the evil Vortex by accident or out of kindness and lived to regret it?

The scenery changed, and Vortex watched it to keep from thinking. The greeny brown sculptures got larger and more numerous. They clustered around buildings, small brick and concrete dwellings. Each of them had a number, and each street had a name. Then taller buildings, forcing him to climb, worried for a moment that he’d lose Groove and Hot Spot among the human vehicles. There were so many, dozens in every street, hundreds in just the small portion of the city he’d seen. It reminded him of Cybertron in the good old days, so energetic and busy.

The Protectobot base, however, was something else entirely.

It was tall, sure, far taller than him and a good sight taller than a lot of the surrounding buildings. But, made of concrete and some kind of reddish clay-based material, it was so very different from the shining metal structures of his home.

He landed on the roof, as instructed, and looked out over the city. The sky darkened to evening, and a galaxy of electric lights flickered on in buildings and streets as the sun met the horizon.

There was a little hut at the rear of the roof. After a while, the door opened and Groove beckoned him inside. “Sorry that took so long,” he said. “Blades lost his passkey and re-set the codes, then he forgot to tell us.”

“It’s OK,” Vortex said. He took one last look at the incredible complexity of the human city, then headed inside.

“It’s just us for now,” Groove said. “Hot Spot’s gone to report in, he’ll be a while talking to Prowl. Streetwise is on patrol with Blades, and First Aid’s running PR.”

“PR?” Vortex said. He followed Groove down a set of concrete steps. Mech-sized, they obviously hadn’t been built with humans in mind.

“Public relations,” Groove replied. “Like earlier with the photos. We need the humans to trust us, but it doesn’t come automatically, we have to work at it. OK, this is the main level with the living and recharge areas. Guest room’s at the end there on the left, so that one’s yours.” He pointed along a corridor; there was a parade of bright red doors and a window at the end, looking out onto the sunset. “And here’s the… well, Streetwise likes to call it a kitchen, but it’s more like the room where we keep the energon.” He pushed open another door, revealing a wonderful pink glow. “Help yourself whenever you like. We’re not on rations right now, and there’s plenty of mid grade.”

The door snapped shut again, and Groove moved on. “And here’s the lounge. Or the rec room, or whatever you want to call it.” He grinned, holding open yet another of the bright red doors. “You gotta tussle for sofa space sometimes, but that’s all part of the fun.” He nodded. “Go ahead, it’ll be a while before the others come back. I’ll get you some energon.”

“Um… OK?” Vortex had been under the impression that he was meant to fetch his own, but apparently not. He was also a bit confused about what a sofa was, and how come ‘lounge’ and ‘rec room’ appeared to be synonymous. Still, there were seats in abundance. Massive squishy-looking things, and an immense screen along one wall. The lighting was soft, like the furnishings, contrasting with the enormous picture window. The glass was tinted, the sky appearing darker than it should. It made for a cosy, enclosed atmosphere.

The door hissed open again, a healthy pink glow only adding to the cosiness. “How’s your leg?” Groove asked, holding out a cube.

Vortex took it, careful not to let their fingers touch. “I’ll live,” he replied, than added, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Groove flashed him a wide grin. “Must be weird for you, being here and all. If there’s anything you need, just say.”

Weird was an understatement. “Portal back home?” Vortex said, and regretted it when Groove’s grin began to falter.

“We’ll get there,” the Protectobot said. “Perceptor’s the best, he’ll figure it out. And until then, maybe you could think of it like a vacation?”

Vortex gripped his cube with both hands. “A what?”

“A vacation. You know, time off from work and stuff.” Groove eased himself down into one of the large, squishy chairs. “When you don’t have to worry about anything, and you can just kick back and relax.”

“What,” Vortex said. “Like a ceasefire?”

Groove gave him a look. “Kind of…”

Not like a ceasefire, then. Vortex wondered if any of the chairs would take his weight; he didn’t want to break anything.

“I could show you around,” Groove said. “There’s plenty to see. I mean tomorrow, when you’ve had some offline time.”

Vortex thought of the sculptures; they’d looked so intricate with their many branches and small, rounded disk-like parts. It might be interesting to see some more. Not useful though, not if his team would never experience them. “Have you got a shooting range?” he said. He retracted his mask and tried to drink his energon without spilling any. Given how his hands were shaking, that wasn’t easy.

“Not here,” Groove said. “But there’s one out at the Ark. I’ll ask Hot Spot if he’ll see about getting you clearance.”

It took Vortex a moment to work out that Groove seemed disappointed, and then another long moment to work out why. “Oh, uh… Seeing things sounds good too,” he said.

“Do you ever take time out for fun?” Groove asked. “Back home, I mean.”

“Sure,” Vortex said. “Loads.” He swallowed his energon, and tried not to think about it. Visions of home clouded his processor. Brawl and Blast Off debating logic, Swindle planning pranks, and Onslaught brushing against his rotors as he passed, an invitation that Vortex would never refuse.

A message flashed up. _Meeting: Onslaught’s desk, two breems_. Oh slag, hadn’t he cancelled that? Apparently not. And how had the evil Onslaught got his comm. freq anyway when Swindle didn’t know it? Vortex had no idea.

“Are you OK?” Groove said.

 _No_ , Vortex thought. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Just need some offline time. Is, uh, I mean, can I…”

“Room’s all yours,” Groove said. “You just hollar if you need anything.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was less a room, and more a suite of rooms. There was a bunk large enough for Octane, washracks with hot running water and a selection of cleansers, a box room with a computer console and a wide, empty desk. A fresh tub of wax sat on a shelf, alongside soft, clean cloths, and a cooling breeze issued from a set of vents in the walls. There was even a forced recharge jack, but Vortex didn’t think he’d need it. He just needed to go offline for a while, let his data banks defrag. It might give him some perspective.

He locked the door, feeling like the world’s biggest slagheap for doing so. But if he woke up and one of them was in the room, there was no telling what could happen before his conscious mind got a grip.

He didn’t want to think that he was worried about what they might do.

He lay facedown on the bunk, the firm, springy foam moulding to the contours of his armour. He folded his arms under his head, dialled up his audials, and initiated his early warning protocols. If someone so much as touched the door and he heard it, he would wake.

He was half an astrosecond from putting himself into recharge when his internal comm. equipment pinged.

//Hey, copter,// Swindle said. //You there?//

//Yeah! Hey! I’m here!// Scrap no, that’s _not_ how it was meant to go. He was meant to be reticent, wary. But he couldn’t help the tingle of excitement at hearing Swindle’s voice, even though it came with a trailer-load of anxiety and a generous heaping of guilt.

//OK, you stupid low-down no-good scrap-for-parts rotor-head!// Swindle yelled, the words spilling quick and angry. //You gonna tell me why you shot Ons in the face and ran off with the Protectobunny? What the scrap is wrong with you?! Ons says you ain’t really you, but you always been a crazy fragger, and I know you got a thing for Autobot grounders and all… And we fragged! I mean what the scrap? Why’d you frag me then slag off like that? What kinda game you playin’? Are you even you, or are you not you or _what?_ //

//I’m me!// Vortex blurted, more to stem the tide than anything else. He paused a moment, waiting for a prompt from the gestalt bond, but no words flashed up. With a sinking feeling, he realised it must only work when they were in close physical proximity. //I mean,// he said. //I’m me, but I’m not the me you think I am? Um…//

There was a moment of silence, then, //That doesn’t make any sense! What you go and do, defect of something? They got better energon, is that it? After I got you that super-refined high grade? I did that for you, you ungrateful heap of slag! I thought you finally wanted something good for the team! I thought you wanted us to stick together!//

//I do! I really do! I just, I’m… I’m not the one you really want, and I’m sorry, because you really are something, but I can’t give you what you need and…//

//Frag you!// Swindle snapped. //You were all up for it last night. What fraggin’ _changed?_ //

//I’m trying to explain!// Vortex buried his face between his guns and started again. //Nothing changed, and you’re… you’re really great, you are. I’m not from here, OK? I got pulled in through some swirly portal thingy, and you guys just thought I was your copter. But I’m not, I mean, I’m still Vortex, but I’m not _your_ Vortex.// _Although I would be, if you wanted_. He tried to shake the thought out of his circuits.

//And what about last night?// Swindle didn’t appear impressed. //And this morning? What the frag was that? Some kind of Autobot plot? Did you give me a virus, is that it?//

//No! Frag no!// The thought made Vortex’s tanks gurgle. //I had a great time, I… I didn’t mean to deceive you.//

//Then why?// Swindle said. //And why’d you go off with that Autoglitch? I’m not good enough for you, is that it?//

//Course you are!// Vortex said. //I couldn’t stay there, I couldn’t let him be tortured, or worse. I have to go home. That’s all. It’s not you, it’s me.//

//That’s the shittiest excuse I ever heard,// Swindle said. //Where the scrap are you, anyway?//

Vortex forced himself to think before answering. //I can’t tell you,// he said. //I’m sorry.//

//Oh for frag sake! What did you do with my copter then? You gonna bring him back? Cause I sure as the Pit ain’t gonna be the one to tell Onslaught that his favourite breakable fragtoy got lost in some space-time portal!//

//I don’t know where he is,// Vortex said. //Really. I wouldn’t lie to you. I… I really like you.//

//Frag,// Swindle sighed. //You’re with the Autoglitches, aren’t you?//

//I told you, I can’t tell you that.//

//You are. I know you are.// Swindle sighed again. //What do they got that I don’t?// he said. //I mean, you got yourself a whole little gestalt over there, just for you?//

//What? No!//

//Then why them? Why couldn’t you stay with us?//

Vortex pressed his face into the berth. //I’m not your Vortex,// he said quietly. His ember gave a twinge, his servos starting to ache.

//You said you’d come back for another go,// Swindle said, as though Vortex needed the reminder. //You got no idea how long I planned for that. You think super-refined high grade just comes up outta the ground? All I wanted was a bit of the team action, yeah? All I wanted was for you to give me a bit of what you give them… What _he_ gives them… Whatever. I don’t care. No fraggin’ idea. Stupid copters, why you have to be so fraggin’ unobtainable?//

The leading edge of one of Vortex’s rotor blades batted against the back of his hand; he stroked the end without meaning to, the metal warming to his touch. He didn’t need the gestalt bond to tell him that wasn’t all Swindle had wanted from his own Vortex.

//I’d be obtainable if I could,// he said, and it sounded like a cop out. //Where are you?// And _that_ sounded like a promise, one he really shouldn’t make. He couldn’t go back to the Decepticons, not now. Scrap, he probably couldn’t even get out of the Protectobots’ base. And what if he did, what would he tell them? Sorry, but I need to go and frag evil Swindle now because he’s mad with me, and he’s disappointed and hurting, and maybe interfacing will help? That’d go down well.

//Oh come on,//Swindle said. //You’re with the Autoglitches, and I’m at base. Like I can tell you where that is.//

//Then what do you want me to do?// Vortex said. His fingers moved further down the blade, the ghost of a touch breezing over the sensors. His vocaliser let out a hiss of static, completely unbidden.

//You _really_ wanna know?// Swindle said, and there was a catch in his voice, an acknowledgement of that brief burst of static. //I want you here. With me, right now. I want you where I know you ain’t gonna go chasin’ after some stupid Protectobunny.//

Hot scrap, this was going somewhere Vortex hadn’t expected it to. The idea of being there with Swindle, it was so very tempting, and utterly impossible. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, //What you wanna do with me?//

//Everything,// Swindle said, his voice almost eclipsed by static. He coughed and started again. //I want you on your back with your legs apart and everything open. I wanna connect, I want your cables and your spike. I want you on top of me and under me and any way you can think of, and I don’t care as long as I get you… And I want to spike you, and hold your rotors, and _frag_ why can’t you be here?//

Vortex bit his lip; the heat spread down his rotor blade to the hub, and from there to his interface hardware. He sprang up and snatched the wax and a cloth, then grabbed a bottle of neat cleanser from the washracks. //I want to be there,// he said, perching on the edge of the berth. His rotors spun lazily as he wrenched the cap from the cleanser.

//What are you doing instead?// Swindle said. //Chatting up Autoglitches?//

Vortex paused; what _was_ he doing? Dealing with the charge, and oh frag he wanted to do that while Swindle talked. But he had the smears to cope with too. Bad enough that Hot Spot and Groove had seen him in that state, he didn’t want the rest of the gestalt to think he couldn’t maintain himself.

Mainly, though, it was the charge. Not just dealing with it, but adding to it, allowing it to build slow and lazy, allowing himself to imagine even if just for a little while that it was Swindle’s hand holding the cloth, Swindle’s fingers easing the fabric over his armour.

//Cleanse and polish,// he replied. //Wish I wasn’t doing it alone.//

//Yeah?//Swindle huffed. //Careful what you wish for, and all that.//

//Careful’s no fun,// Vortex said. //You gonna tell me more about what you want?//

//Mmmm.// There was a pause, and when Swindle spoke again he sounded distinctly more cheerful. //Do I get a visual feed on that cleanse and polish?//

Vortex grinned. //If you’re lucky.// A small voice at the back of his processor told him this was going too far, that there might be something in the room the Decepticons of this world could use as intel. And a smaller voice, a slight off note, asked him what his team would think when they found out, how hurt they would be that he’d used this Swindle as a substitute for his own.

But all that was like whispering into a hurricane compared with the urgent thrumming of his interface hardware, and the pressure building in his spike.

It only took a moment to copy across the data from his visual sensors and patch it through to Swindle’s comm. frequency. //You got it?// he asked.

There may or may not have been a ‘yes’ in the answering electric hiss. After a few astroseconds, Swindle responded with something more concrete. //Oh yeah,// he said. //I got it all right.//

Vortex looked down, following the path of his hand as he slid the cloth over his arm. Then his thigh, his hip, up to his waist. He wished he could reach his rotors properly, where the sensors were tightly clustered and everything felt that much more intense. But this was for Swindle as much as for him, and the thought of Swindle watching him polish himself, slowly, gently… It sent little shivers of current to all the right places.

//Frag, I wanna fuck you,// Swindle sighed. //Open your legs for me, yeah, like that.// There was no question that he wouldn’t; anything Swindle wanted, he could have. //Think about me kneeling there.// Swindle whispered. //Think about me touching you. You want me to touch you?//

//Uhuh!// Vortex parted his legs a little further, giving himself space to run the cloth along the seam of his valve casing.

//Where do you want me to touch you?//

 _Everywhere?_ he thought, and said, //Here,// as the cover slid away. //And here…// The fingers of his free hand trailed around the rim, and he fought to keep his optics online.

// _Don’t stop visual feed!_ Mmmph, oh wow, that looks so good.//

//Feels good,// Vortex whispered, as the nodes crackled against his fingertips. He slid his fingers a little deeper, unable to prevent the highly audible moan as gears shifted and the lining stretched.

//I wanna see your spike,// Swindle said, and the cover sprang open as though of its own accord. Vortex wanted to lean back, to let the bunk support his rotors, but then Swindle wouldn’t be able to see, and he so wanted Swindle to watch.

//Mmmm, that’s nice.// Swindle commented. //Hot scrap, I’d love to get my mouth around that again. You wanna try another finger, see how much you can take…//

Vortex nodded, the comm. link filling with static. He eased a third finger into his valve, slick and hot, straining for his ceiling node. //Ugh, yeah, oh frag that’s nice!//

//Keep your fingers there.// Swindle’s speech was uneven, his ventilation ragged. //Now lose the wax, I wanna see you stroke your spike.// The polishing cloth fell to the floor as Vortex did exactly as he was told. //Mmmm, just like that. Do it slow, pinch the tip just a bit, now right down to the base. You want me there, don’t you? You want my lips where your fingers are, you want to see your spike vanish into my mouth.//

//Ugh, yes, oh frag yes!// Vortex’s hips bucked, a crackle of sparks discharging over his hand. Nodes fired and heat built, and he’d have given anything to feel Swindle’s glossa dip between his ridges, to see his spike again engulfed. // _Keep talking!_ // he wailed, increasing the speed of his strokes as he flicked his fingertips quick and light against his ceiling node. His valve rippled, and it was as though his back struts melted. He had no idea how he held himself anything approaching upright, but he clung on, maintaining the visual feed, willing Swindle to say something, anything.

//I want you all to myself,// Swindle whispered, and Vortex tensed as a sunburst of pleasure speared out from his interface array. Charge flooded his systems, turning his vision to black and making his audials ring. He fell back, his rotors thudding on the berth, a hot, tingling glow spreading through each and every part of him.

Dimly, he registered that Swindle was still talking. //Oh frag yes, frag yes, frag YES! Urrgh!// The comm. dissolved, nothing but static for a full dozen astroseconds. Then a satiated moan, and when Swindle spoke, his tone was mellow. //Never done that before,// he said. //Not like that. Frag, that was good.//

//Mmmmmmmm,// Vortex responded. He hauled himself fully onto the berth, not caring that his interface hatches were open, not caring that there were fluids on his hands and thighs, that he was still covered in traces of Swindle’s paint. It was cosy on here, and soft; he took his optics offline. //Really good,// he murmured.

//You’re about to recharge, aren’t you?// Swindle said. Vortex wasn’t sure, but he didn’t sound pleased.

//Mmmhmmm,// Vortex replied. He was warm and comfortable and tired, and his systems were closing down all of their own accord. What else was he about to do?

//Huh,// Swindle said. //Whatever.//


	8. Chapter 8

Mornings, Vortex thought, were for regrets.

He shouldn’t have taken the call from Swindle. He shouldn’t have let it go where it had. He shouldn’t have shared his visual feed and exposed himself, and made himself so vulnerable and tired and comfortable in the Protectobot base. Even if they were alternate universe good Protectobots.

The bunk was dirty; smeared with lubricant from his comm-chat tryst, and drizzled with hydraulic fluid where his field dressing had come askew in the night. He ran a diagnostic on his leg. Functionality at 56.3%. Great. He was dirty _and_ incapacitated. And guilty. He’d gone offline when Swindle probably wanted him to talk. So selfish, not to mention inconsiderate. Swindle really needed him, otherwise why had he got in contact?

The thought of what Swindle must have gone through with the psycho copter, let alone the rest of his team, made Vortex want to fly off back to the Nemesis and haul him out of there.

Not that he was in any state to accomplish that.

He heaved himself off the berth, and limped over to the washracks. Two and a half breems and a fair few cloths later, and the bunk was clean. The cloths however, not so much. He tried to fold them in a way that made it look like it was all hydraulic fluid, and decided it was about time to sort himself out.

The washracks worked perfectly, the cleanser sweeping away all the grime from his journey, all the fragments of mud from his vents, the dried fluids from his interface hardware. He couldn’t get over it; private washracks in a guest room. Even Megatron didn’t have private washracks back home, where there wasn’t enough fuel to control the temperature of the cleanser, let alone enough clean water to make everything work as it should.

It was only after scrubbing the last of Swindle’s paint from his armour that he thought to check for hidden cameras. Surely they wouldn’t… but he was a Decepticon, technically an enemy, kind of. An unknown quantity. It would make sense for them to keep an eye on him.

Oh no.

What if they’d seen… last night.

He peered around, trying to assess the situation while he waited for the jets of warm air to dry him. He couldn’t see anything. Not from the washracks, and not from any other part of the room once he was dry. He tried to erase the thought from his mind; if they’d seen him, he’d find out sooner or later.

He snapped his mask back in place and wondered what to do next. Was he allowed to go outside? He didn’t think so. The Prime seemed to expect him to be monitored. For his own safety, or theirs, it didn’t matter. But he could probably go into a different room. One that had more in it than a bare desk and bare shelves.

At least it seemed to be day again, unless it had never really got dark. He had no idea. Eleven joors had passed since he went offline; a long time, but not unsurprising considering all that had happened over the past few days. He’d had a lot of defragging to do.

He uncoded the lock to his door. He half expected it to be locked from the outside too, keeping him in, but it opened readily. No alarm either. He peered out, trying not to make too much noise with his injured leg.

“Hey!”

He leapt back, his lasers charging. Venting hard, he forced the energy to dissipate, and stuck his head again around the doorjamb.

There was a new mech leaning out of the energon storage room. He was shortish and bulky, and it took Vortex a moment to work out exactly who he was.

“Sorry!” the mech called. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You need some fuel?”

Vortex shook his head. It was weird to see Streetwise so cheerful. The mech dived back into the kitchen, and Vortex took the opportunity to limp past into the room with the squishy chairs.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Streetwise said. “First Aid wants you downstairs.”

Vortex froze. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Groove told him about your leg. It’s this way, I’ll show you.”

“The leg’s fine!” Vortex protested.

Streetwise gave him the same look Groove had given him the day before for exactly the same lie. “Of course it is,” he said. “And I’m Santa Claus. Hop lively, you don’t wanna keep the medic waiting.”

Vortex wasn’t sure which way to take that. Certainly not at face value, if Streetwise’s open, happy smile was any indication.

“Seriously,” he said. “Can’t have you leaking fluids and dropping broken glass all over the place now can we?”

Vortex nodded. That, at least, made sense.

Streetwise gestured at the door. “Down there on the right. He’ll fix you up good as new.”

* * *

First Aid stared. His mask was closed, his expression hidden.

Vortex loitered by the door, trying not to stare back. His weapons buzzed, an automatic reaction, his targeting systems locking on. This wasn’t good, not good at all. But he so wanted to fire.

And still the medic watched him. His blue visor flickered, and his hands paused mid-clean, a polishing cloth wrapped around his fingers.

“Um.” First Aid seemed to shake himself. “Hi,” he said, and his voice was calm, pleasant. He finished cleaning his hands and tossed the cloth down a chute in the wall. “Thankyou for bringing Groove back, we all really appreciate it. I hear you took a bit of damage.”

“It’s nothing,” Vortex said, trying to stand so that his broken cockpit glass wasn’t visible and it didn’t look as though he favoured his right leg. “Just a graze.”

First Aid sighed. “It’s a copter thing, isn’t it? Your leg falls off, it’s ‘only a scratch’; get a hole in your primary fuel pump and it’s just a minor inconvenience.” He adjusted the height of one of the bunks and patted the top. “Come here and let me have a look.”

“Um…” Vortex shuffled over. He was with the good Autobots, he had to remember that. This was an actual medic, not the mech with the acids and the poisons and that horrible, gleeful laugh. Vortex suppressed a shudder, willing his rotors to be still, and sat on the edge of the bunk.

“Wow,” First Aid said. “You, um, you really look like him. Sorry, this is just a little strange for me.”

“You and me both,” Vortex replied, and was surprised that a little of the tension eased.

First Aid nodded. “All right, I’m going to need you to lay on your back, and bend your leg. Is that OK?”

Vortex nodded and did as he was told. He stared at the ceiling, not wanting to think. Instead, he counted the tiles, trying not to feel the medic’s hands on his knee, his thigh, peeling back his armour. Those hands in his workings, tying off his hydraulic lines, isolating the damage.

“You took quite a hit,” First Aid said. “This is probably going to sting a little, let me know if you’d like me to block the pain receptors.”

“No! No, they’ll be fine.” The pain was welcome, expected even. There was a clink as the field dressing hit the waste chute, and a scraping sound as First Aid did whatever it was he was doing to the line.

Vortex focused on controlling his ventilation, and tried to be relieved that he wasn’t strapped down. It didn’t help.

It took an eternity, but eventually, First Aid secured his armour and straightened up.

“OK, thank you, we’re done, right? Can I go now?” Vortex said.

To his surprise, First Aid laughed. “It really is a copter thing, isn’t it?” he said. “Stay where you are, I need to replace your cockpit glass.”

“It’ll be fine,” Vortex said, but it wouldn’t be. He’d shaken out the worst of the shards, but there were bound to be more. And it wasn’t as though his self repair would give him a whole new covering of glass.

“Not used to medics, huh?” First Aid said. He rummaged in a cupboard, standing on the tips of his feet to reach the top shelf.

“Uh, something like that,” Vortex said. “I’ll be fine until I get home. Really. Has… Um, has Perceptor found the new portal yet?”

First Aid glanced back at him. “Not yet,” he said. “And you’ll be the first to know when he does.”

“Oh.” Vortex forced his fingers to relax, pressing on his guns like that was really starting to hurt.

“Aha, here we go!” First Aid headed back over, then paused. “Have you got a gestalt back home like, um… you know.”

Vortex nodded.

To his surprise, First Aid retracted his mask. He was smiling, and not the vicious, calculating smirk Vortex had half expected, but a hopeful, tentative smile. “We’ll get you back to them soon,” the medic said. “Now, I need to take some measurements. You’re a different frame type than Blades, and it’ll take me a little while to reshape the glass.”

Vortex stayed where he was, and gave the ceiling another inspection. But his optics slid back to First Aid. The distance helped, the six or so mechanometers between his systems and those hands. But it was also good to watch, to see that that First Aid was doing exactly what he said he would, just re-shaping the contours of the glass to make it a better fit.

//Hey, copter!// The comm. almost shook him off the bunk. He bit his lip, grateful for his mask, and even more grateful that First Aid had no access to his internal communication equipment.

//Swindle?// he said.

//Course it’s me, who the frag else would it be? You still with the Autofreaks? Yeah, course you are. Listen, I gotta be in San Diego in like five joors. Just me, on my lonesome. Be there.//

//San what? Swin, I can’t! I…// Vortex realised too late that his ventilation had ceased, and his core temperature was steadily rising. He winced as it tripped the thermostat, and his fans kicked on. First Aid made a curious noise, but didn’t turn around.

//Frag, just say you wanna go rescue a bunch of squishies or something. I dunno. I wanna see you. OK, gotta go, Brawl’s got his treads caught on something again.//

Swindle cut the comm. just as First Aid reached him with a pair of tweezers. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to have a poke around,” he said. “Don’t want any glass getting into awkward places.”

Vortex nodded, cycling air as calmly as he could, willing his fans to switch off.

“I’ll be done soon,” First Aid said. He smiled again, and Vortex realised he was trying to be reassuring.

* * *

Eventually, the repairs were over, and Vortex fled – slowly and in a dignified and not at all disturbed way – upstairs. Streetwise had vanished, and neither Groove nor Hot Spot were anywhere to be seen. He leant against a wall and cycled up his vents, bringing his core temperature back under control.

The rush of air was calming, roaring in his audio receptors. He didn’t hear anyone approach until something touched one of his rotors, and a voice sounded, altogether too close to the back of his helm. “Hey there.”

There was no time to think. Vortex ducked and spun. He grabbed the newcomer by the throat and slammed him to the floor. Dropping into a crouch, he leaned over the mech, weapons aimed and charging.

“Woah, frag!” the newcomer held up his hands. White hands, like this universe’s First Aid. And rotors, also white, laying flat against the floor. It could only have been Blades.

Vortex’s sentient mind caught up with events a fraction of an astrosecond too late. “Oh scrap, I’m sorry!” he cried. He scurried backwards, almost tripping over his own feet, until his rotor hub hit a wall. “I really didn’t mean to do that.”

“Jumpy, aren’t you,” Blades said. He shook his head and picked himself up.

“What’s going on?” First Aid appeared at the door to the stairs. “I heard noises.”

“Eh, nothin’,” Blades said. Then continued when it became clear that First Aid was waiting for something more. “New guy’s just a bit nervous is all.”

That, Vortex thought, would be an understatement. He gave the door to his room a longing glance. If only there weren’t two Protectobots between him and it. “Sorry,” he said. “You surprised me.”

“No surprising the nice copter.” First Aid poked Blades in the arm.

“I thought I was the nice copter?” he said, but at least he was smiling.

First Aid shook his head. “No, you’re the naughty copter who doesn’t know the difference between heroism and reckless endangerment. On which subject, this is your quarter breem warning. It’s check-up time.”

Blades deflated. “Oh fun.”

“I really am sorry,” Vortex said when First Aid had again vanished downstairs.

Blades flashed him a grin and reached into the energon storage room. “It’s fine,” he said. “From ‘hi’ to flat on my back in 1.8 astroseconds, that’s got to be a new record. Here.” He tossed over a cube, and Vortex caught it by reflex.

“Nice rotors.” Blades cracked open his cube and downed it in one. “We should go flying or something. I never get to fly with a rotary, it’s always jets. Well, I say ‘flying with’, it’s more like ‘getting left behind’, y’know how it goes.”

Vortex nodded, although he didn’t. When he flew in company, the company was generally in root mode.

“Drink up,” Blades said, waving his empty cube. “Seriously, it’s all cool. OK, I gotta go get prodded and poked. Groove says he set you up a firing range downstairs, if you wanna train or something. I don’t know. He’ll be back around three. If I were you, I’d go watch TV.”

Vortex wasn’t about to ask what TV was. He just nodded again, and watched Blades leave.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

The firing range turned out to be very small, but at least it was something. It was in a yard at the back of Protectobot HQ, with high concrete walls to mute the buzz and blare of the city. Vortex heard human voices and human vehicles, a low cacophony which spread a sickly yearning through his internals. He hadn’t known a place so busy since before the war.

He stayed out for two joors, until he heard Blades take off from the roof and a groundframe – he wasn’t sure which one – leave from a set of high doors at street level.

He hoped it was First Aid.

There was, however, no such luck, and the medic called him on an open comm. //I’d like a word,// he said. //When you’ve got a breem.//

He didn’t want to have a breem. He didn’t want First Aid questioning him about what had happened with Blades, or about anything else. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but the major part of him craved what would be in San Diego in about two joors.

After a few breems of carefully moving around Protectobot HQ to avoid being in the same place as First Aid, the medic finally cornered him in the rec room.

“Hi,” First Aid said. His mask was still absent, and his smile was open, friendly.

Vortex glanced at the door, but making a run for it now would be rude. Damn. He kept his own mask closed, and wished he hadn’t decided to sit on the weird squishy fabric thing. It was bouncy, and there was more than enough room for First Aid to come sit beside him. He pressed his rotors into the high seatback to prevent them from shaking, and fought in vain to stop his weapons systems coming online.

“I thought we could have a chat.” First Aid was still smiling. He angled himself to face Vortex, his optics flicking briefly to the Decepticon’s main rotors. Vortex suppressed a shudder.

“Um,” he said. “OK?”

“Don’t worry,” First Aid said. “It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to ask you a few things.”

“What things?” Vortex tried not to look at the exit.

The medic gave another of his hopeful, tentative smiles. “I don’t want to over-step my mark, but you’re a Cybertronian and you’re staying here, which makes you my patient. You seem really tense. Is there anything I can do to help with that?”

Vortex shook his head. _Back off a little,_ he thought.

“There’s no gentle way to say this, but Groove says that Swindle… took advantage,” First Aid said. “Back on the Nemesis.”

“He can’t have,” Vortex said without thinking. “Swindle was with me all night.” He tried to stop himself from edging away, but it was hard. First Aid was a tactile mech, reaching out to press his hand against Vortex’s arm, an attempt to reassure. But the last thing Vortex wanted right now was to be touched by those hands, the very thought made him queasy.

“Uh.” First Aid looked awkward. “I didn’t mean Groove.”

“Huh?” Vortex gave up and shuffled further away. “What do you…? Oh! Right. Uh… no, he didn’t. Not on purpose anyway. He thought I was the, um, other… Vortex… Could you just not get any closer please?” He felt like a tool for saying it, but if First Aid got any nearer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It would probably be violent.

“Oh, sorry.” First Aid’s disappointment was clear. His smile waned. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Is there anything I can get you?”

 _A room that doesn’t have you in it_ , Vortex thought. “No,” he replied. “Thanks. I’m OK.”

“I heard you clocked Onslaught,” First Aid said.

Oh scrap, the conversation wasn’t over? Vortex tugged his feet onto the squishy seat thingy and hugged his knees to his chest. It probably made him look pathetic, but he didn’t care. It brought his root mode thrusters closer to the rest of him, and would make an escape easier should he need to flee.

“Are you all right?” First Aid said. “You know you can talk to me, if you need to. Confidentially.”

A cold buzz of shame crackled through him, and Vortex looked down at his canopy glass. First Aid was only trying to help. Like Blades had been earlier. There was no reason for him to be so hostile. He didn’t want to be negative; he wanted to get to know these mechs, to hear the tales of heroism that Cliffjumper had hinted at, to find out what they were really like.

But he wanted to do it from a distance of more than half a mechanometer.

“I just want to go home,” Vortex said softly. “To my team.”

“I understand.” First Aid pulled his hand back, and shuffled his own feet up onto the sofa. “They’re working at it, over at the Ark,” he said. “It won’t be long, I’m sure. But until they find a way, I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

“Scrap, I didn’t mean it like that,” Vortex said. “I just…” The gestalt bond was glitching, he kept thinking the evil Swindle was his real team mate, and he couldn’t stop his weapons from charging whenever a Protectobot got close. But those weren’t exactly things he could say.

“It must be hard for you,” First Aid said. “Surrounded by friends who look like enemies.”

Vortex nodded. And they’d taken in a stranger who also looked like an enemy. A violent, wary stranger who had a problem telling friend from foe. “Can’t be easy for you either,” he said.

“How about a nice rotor polish?” First Aid suggested. “It might help you to relax.”

The thought made Vortex’s fuel lines constrict, and he was glad that his rotors were already pressed into the soft, squishy furniture. “I doubt it,” he replied. “I mean thank you, but…”

“It’s all right.” First Aid leant over the side of the sofa and dug around, bringing back a little black box; Vortex gave it a suspicious glare. “The offer’s open any time,” First Aid said. “I won’t push it on you, but I think you should consider it. OK, enough with the medic talk, have you ever watched human TV?”

* * *

Swindle didn’t comm him again. Vortex half expected it, huddled on the sofa beside the medic, watching images of humans enacting confusing and complicated scenarios on the screen.

He could make a break for it, speed off to San Diego, see Swindle, be with him. But his hosts would be disappointed, maybe even angry. And if there was one thing he wanted less than First Aid’s knee casually leaning against his landing gear, it was to upset the Protectobot. Or any of his team. They were all so kind and considerate.

And creepy, but that was hardly their fault.

Still, no matter First Aid’s attempts to engage his interest with the television, Vortex’s thoughts kept spiralling back to Swindle.

The time for San Diego came and went, and still no comm.

Groove turned up, and squeezed himself onto the sofa the other side of First Aid. There was no need, there were plenty of other free seats. But Vortex could understand the desire for closeness, even if he couldn’t quite stop himself from edging away.

Around sunset, he got jittery. No call from Swindle, no news from the Ark, and Groove appeared to have gone into recharge leaning on First Aid’s shoulder, one leg slung across his lap.

First Aid stroked his team mate’s helm, his engine purring away. “OK,” he said quietly. “You need to go flying, and he needs to go somewhere he isn’t going to wake up with crooked cables. Can you help me?”

What a ruse. First Aid didn’t need any help, he was more than capable of lifting and carrying his team mate. But Vortex got the idea; he was trying to make Vortex feel as though he was useful, maybe help him to feel valued.

“OK,” he said. It wasn’t, not really, but he’d carried Groove away from the Nemesis, so carrying him through two rooms and a short stretch of hallway shouldn’t actually be a problem. Even if Groove did murmur and nuzzle his shoulder. And even if the Protectobot’s energy field pulsed with contentment, buzzing lightly against the sensors in Vortex’s transformation seams.

Vortex was glad to lower him onto his bunk. Groove stretched and sighed, and First Aid smiled in a way that made Vortex suddenly and terribly homesick.


	10. Chapter 10

Thirty joors was too long to be out of the sky. But of course Vortex couldn’t fly by himself. He knew nothing of human air traffic, and nothing about the relative locations of the minor Decepticon strongholds. So he waited for Blades on the roof, watching the slow drift of orange clouds and the occasional gleam of a star through the gaps.

He wondered if any of them were at all close to this universe’s Cybertron.

First Aid spoke over the low hum of traffic. “Atmospheric pressure readings indicate a slight chance of rain.” He stood by the railing, his armour reflecting the city lights. “But don’t be alarmed if it does, the rain here isn’t harmful.”

Vortex nodded; he remembered Cliffjumper saying as much.

It was all right talking to First Aid in the open. Now that their armour was no longer touching, and Vortex could keep his distance without seeming rude, being alone with the medic was actually kind of OK. He wondered if he was acclimatising, or if he’d finally managed to get his processor to override his learned responses.

//You ready down there?//

Blades’ comm startled him, and he fought to locate the copter in the rich complexity of the city skyline.

//He is,// First Aid responded. //What’s your position?//

//Two point six eight klicks to the south west, give or take. I’m by the old freeway, you wanna send him on up?//

It was disturbing how it went from Blades talking _to_ him to Blades and First Aid talking _about_ him, but at least Vortex could still hear them. The idea that they’d discuss him over a private channel was far too familiar for comfort. He transformed, focusing on the shift between root and alt relays, letting the new input distract him from unwelcome memories.

He was only half listening when First Aid gave him the directions. He wanted to fly, to work off some of the frustrated energy that had built up thinking about Swindle. He wanted to experience Earth’s skies at night, to skim the harmless low clouds, and imagine that the thousands of tiny lights laid out below him were the lights of his home before the war turned almost all of them out.

//Have a good flight!// The Protectobot medic waved him off, the noises of the city lost in the wash from Vortex’s rotors.

//Don’t worry,// Blades said. //I’ll make sure he does.//

* * * 

Blades chose the flight path, taking them over small dwellings and large areas of open land. In the dim light, Vortex saw more of the odd sculptures he’d noticed the day before, along with herds of non-sentient organics which stood around like drones. Overhead the cloud cover broke, revealing unfamiliar constellations.

//So,// Blades said. //What do you think of Earth?//

//It’s busy,// Vortex responded. Even out here, he could see little sets of red and white lights, and the occasional blinking amber of non-sentient groundframes. Night travel evidently held no fear for humans, and the thought was comforting. //They don’t have a curfew?//

//Don’t need one,// Blades replied. He veered gently to the left and Vortex followed; the rush of air over his atmospheric sensors was calming. //The ‘cons try something every so often, but we see ‘em off. You like the humans, right? Groove said you guys got mobbed by fans.//

Vortex wasn’t sure he’d call it mobbed, but maybe Blades didn’t like small humans with cameras as much as Groove seemed to. //They’re really friendly,// he said.

//Sure are,// Blades agreed. //What do you think of their TV?//

//Um, it’s interesting,// Vortex replied. It was something the Protectobots seemed to think he should like, so it was best to go along with the idea that he did. As long as he wasn’t quizzed about it, he’d be fine. //Don’t have anything like that any more,// he added, in case ‘interesting’ wasn’t enough. //Back home, I mean.//

//That’s gotta drag,// Blades commented. //I don’t watch it much; rather be out here, but it’s all right for downtime. Streetwise loves it, ‘specially the cop shows.//

A train sped along a gap between fields, and Vortex watched it as they passed. Non-sentient, like the cars and bikes and trucks, but sleek and pleasing nonetheless. But was it interesting enough to save to hard storage? His team might want to know about it, and Astrotrain certainly would, but it wasn’t exactly useful. Vortex realised that he’d been silent a little too long. //Cop shows?// he asked.

Blades gained altitude and again Vortex followed. //Yeah, cop shows. They got this program where these humans with cameras follow their police around all day. High speed car chases, catching the bad guys, all that stuff. Streetwise can’t get enough of it.//

//They catch the bad guys?// Vortex said. He imagined a group of human law enforcement officers trying to bring down the evil Brawl or even Onslaught. He couldn’t get the idea through his logic chips.

//Yeah, like robbers and car thieves,// Blades said. //Lotta humans, lotta crime. But hey,// he continued quickly, as though realising he might have said something wrong. //Don't let it put you off ‘em, they’re not all like that, not by far. Most of ‘em are like the ones you saw yesterday.//

//Of course,// Vortex said, but his mind veered along another track entirely. Thinking of Brawl and Onslaught had inevitably led him to think about the evil Swindle, probably drinking himself into overcharge stasis because Vortex hadn’t gone to meet him at San Diego. Probably getting yelled at by the evil Onslaught for not being able to tell the psycho copter from an impostor. Or worse than yelled at.

He didn’t want to think about it. And he didn’t want to talk either, but Blades kept up a steady stream of chatter and Vortex played along because upsetting Blades would be as bad as upsetting First Aid. Or worse. It didn’t matter that Blades seemed to have forgotten about Vortex putting him on the floor that morning, Vortex still felt that he had ground to make up.

Then Blades asked about his team, and Vortex felt as though that ground he needed to make up had risen to hit him in the undercarriage.

//Uh…// he said, and for a few astroseconds, it was all he could think to say. His memories warred with his programming, firewalls snapping into place without his conscious command, his vocaliser going completely offline. His processor reeled as he fought the overwhelming urge to protect his team at all costs; he couldn’t talk about them, couldn’t think about them, any small piece of information could be used against them.

//It’s OK,// Blades said as Vortex struggled to re-assert control over his own systems. //Bad question, forget I asked.//

//No!// Vortex snapped. //Really, it’s all right! I’m just-//

//Homesick?// Blades interrupted. //I should’a thought of that one too. I’ve never really been off Earth. Got built here, y’know? Designed to protect the humans. Don’t know what it’s like to be so far from home, it’s gotta be hard.//

That was unexpected. Vortex muttered an agreement, and monitored his systems as everything again settled down.

//If there’s anywhere you wanna go,// Blades said. //Anything you wanna do, just say the word.//

//Thanks,// Vortex replied. It was a struggle not to mention getting back to Cybertron, but he’d already made that mistake with Groove and First Aid. //My team’s great,// he added. //I think you’d like them.// He wasn’t about to speculate on how they’d react to Blades, but maybe if they got to know him a bit they’d hold off on the shoot first and ask questions later.

//They gotta be,// Blades said with obvious approval. //Say, you got anyone special back home?//

That was an odd question. //Uh… My team?// Vortex hazarded. He supposed Megatron was pretty special, but everyone had their strong points, and no single warrior was worth more than another. The cause was too important.

//Course,// Blades said. He sounded as though he was about to say something else, but instead he accelerated, the little lights on his nose flickering.

Vortex got the impression his response had been somehow wrong, but it wasn’t until thought of home brought him right back around again to thought of Swindle that he realised exactly how wrong. Scrap. _That_ kind of special.

He dismissed the idea that Blades would have any personal motive for asking. He was just taking an interest, probably trying to work out if there were more reasons for Vortex to be homesick, and there Vortex was being rude again. But before he could think of something to say that didn’t make it look like he was built yesterday, Blades spoke up.

//Windspeed’s low,// the copter said. //Visibility’s great, you wanna race?//

There was only one answer to that.

* * * 

 

When they got back, First Aid was waiting for them. He insisted on checking Vortex over in alt mode before allowing him to transform. Vortex almost shot him, but the wild ride over farmland and into the radiating warmth of the desert had drained his power core, and his automated responses were sluggish. He caught himself in time, and forced himself to imagine that First Aid was actually Hook. They had a similar style, calm competence matched with a reassuring tone. Firm too, but First Aid was nowhere near as firm with Vortex as he was with Blades.

It was actually endearing, watching the medic check over his team mate. First Aid’s stern orders contrasted with Blades’ amused grumbling, and for a moment it was as though Vortex was back on Cybertron among the Decepticons as he should have been all along. He wrote the observation to his hard storage; he couldn’t keep mistaking these Protectobots for his team’s tormentors. If he lay down enough new memories, perhaps he could start responding to them normally. Or at least without the threat of violence.

“All right!” Blades whooped, transforming to root mode. “Who’s up for a drink?”

“Not you,” First Aid said. “You’re on duty first thing.” He made for the door to the stairs, evidently expecting the copters to fall in behind him.

“Aww, c’mon,” Blades said, giving Vortex an apologetic look.

The medic’s answer came in the negative.

Blades shrugged and flashed Vortex a playful smile. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

* * * 


	11. Chapter 11

It was a shock to find how well sound travelled between rooms. The vents were at fault, Vortex thought as he lay on his bunk and tried not to listen. They carried cool air to all parts of the building in defiance of the hot and humid night, but in the process they also carried other things. He'd gone into recharge so early the previous evening, it was no wonder he hadn't noticed before.

“We can't!” First Aid's voice was muted, but clear enough.

“Awww, c'mon…” That must have been Blades; Vortex doubted the other Protectobots could make three syllables sound quite so suggestive. Blades continued, “We haven't had an off-cycle together for weeks…”

“We've got a guest!” First Aid said. “And I'm sure he doesn't want to hear us clanking and banging around.”

Vortex rolled onto his front, pinning his hands under his chin; now was not the time to start getting tingly. A little voice at the back of his processor told him he should dial down his audials and put himself in recharge.

He didn't.

“We could do it with cables,” Blades said, and Vortex could just imagine the sly gleam in his optics. “All quiet and stuff. What do you say?”

The soft laugh must have come from First Aid. “You're incapable of being quiet.”

“I'll try extra hard, just for you.”

There was a long pause before First Aid responded. “I'm still not comfortable with it,” he said. “It… it just feels. I don't know, I don't want him to hear and be embarrassed. No matter how quiet you think you are.”

“We could ask him if he wants to join in?” Blades said.

Vortex froze. He couldn't have heard that right.

There was a dull clang. “You're a very bad mech,” First Aid said.

“Awww, don't tell me you haven't thought about it. Those rotors… I mean wow. And that's one _fine_ paintjob.”

“Shhhhh!” First Aid hissed. “You mustn't talk about him like that!”

Too right, Vortex thought, and tried to ignore the faint tickle of charge running through his interface circuitry.

“Why not?” Blades teased. “Is it giving you ideas?”

“It most certainly is not!” First Aid protested, but his indignation sounded a little forced.

“Liar,” Blades said, almost too softly for Vortex to hear. Then, “Just think of what you could do with _two_ rotary mechs…”

Vortex didn't hear First Aid's response, he was too busy doing what he should have done in the first place and dialling down his audials. Scrap. What was he going to do? Wander on over and knock on their door and _no_! When in the history of bad ideas had getting in close physical proximity with a Protectobot stopped being a really stupid thing to do?

The silence rang.

He dialled up his audials again, and waited cautiously for someone else to talk. But no-one did, and all that came through the vents was a very soft moan and a muffled laugh.

He put his vocaliser on mute in case the needy whimper somehow found its way through the vents, and oh no, what if his performance last night for Swindle had been overheard? He couldn't remember if he'd been noisy or not. Surely he'd had the presence of mind to keep quiet?

Not that he'd had the presence of mind to check for hidden cameras.

Nor did he have the presence of mind right now to control his steadily climbing temperature.

He couldn't get close to them. They were scary, he'd end up hurting them. They weren't team.

Scrap, they were team even less than the evil Swindle was.

Oh Swindle. Stuck in the Decepticon base with the evil Onslaught and the evil Brawl. At the mercy of who knew what cruelties because he hadn't engaged his processor, and had assumed one Vortex was the other.

Another giggle came through the vents, then a long, slow sigh. Vortex cringed, his every sensor prickling. The vision of Swindle alone in the Nemesis fragmented, and he was left with a picture of Blades and First Aid, entwined, trying to be quiet. Were they connected already? Did the medic have his hands around those graceful, firm rotors?

Vortex moved to free his arms, then froze. He couldn't touch himself, not while thinking about them. It wouldn't just be wrong, it would be disrespectful. He'd never be able to look at them again, least of all speak to them - they'd guess, then they'd know that he'd overheard them.

It'd be hard enough talking to them knowing Blades had suggested he join them.

He winced as his spike crashed against the inside of its cover. _So_ not what he needed right now.

What did he need right now?

Swindle, obviously. Swindle sitting in his lap, his back to Vortex's chest. His thighs apart and every cover open while Vortex stroked the outer edge of his valve. He needed Swindle clinging to him, crying out in ecstasy as charge ricocheted along the cables connecting them, and Vortex could feel the pressure of his fingers easing and stretching and filling Swindle's valve as though it was his own.

He needed Swindle to comm him, urge him to open up, to talk him to overload.

And oh it felt so good to raise his hips and slide his spike out of its housing directly into his hand, and what in the name of Cybertron was he doing? It'd be another case of lubricant all over the bunk, and a hasty cleanup job in the morning.

He couldn't risk that.

Vortex flung himself off the berth and into the washracks. It was better in here, more intimate, less exposed. He waited for the door to shut, but didn't turn on the water. Cleanser would interfere with the lubricant, and although that could be nice in its own way, it wasn't what he wanted right now.

Oh, to have Swindle here with him, kneeling perhaps in front of him, or with his back to the wall and his legs wrapped around Vortex's waist. Or perhaps just standing close, kissing him deeply while Vortex caressed the fun bouncy rubber of his tires, and Swindle's fingers worked his valve.

Hot scrap he missed Swindle. _His_ Swindle…

And the other one.

He had a little twinge of guilt at using the evil Swindle to get himself off. Betraying his team with someone who was the very opposite of them.

And a little guilt at considering letting his arm brush against Blades' rotors tomorrow, at seeing how far that small hint could get him.

Frag no! He couldn't and wouldn't do that.

OK, time to stop thinking about Blades, because thinking about Blades made him think about the other Blades and that would lead to very bad places indeed. And it absolutely wasn't the thing to have enter his processor while one hand pumped his spike and the other teased cautiously around the tip of his lower left rotor blade.

Stick to Swindle. It didn't matter which one, not for this. Swindle in the Nemesis, probably thinking of him, probably writhing on his bunk, waiting for Vortex to turn up and rescue him as he had Groove. And when they were safe, Vortex would ask Swindle to spike him, filling him as the crackle of their energy fields tore at his sensitive tail rotors. Dragging the overload from him as the stimulation of his hand against the crackling, slick nodes of his spike now brought him to climax.

Fluid spattered the floor, but it didn't matter. He fell against the wall, venting hard. He was warm and tired, and the urge to interface had faded with the overload.

Turning on the water, Vortex wanted nothing more than to emerge from the washracks clean and safe and back in his own reality with his own team mates.

Instead, he rinsed and dried himself, and made sure to wipe the evidence from the floor. Then he slouched out of the washracks and into the cold embrace of the wide, empty bunk.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

Another morning, another regret, but at least this time it was only about what he'd thought and not about what he'd done. Still, it was weird. Being around them, talking to them, watching them for signs that they were paying more attention to him than they otherwise would. And trying not to look like he was looking.

It was draining and confusing, and he wasn't sure he liked it. But he was even less sure whether he wanted to catch them at it or not.

It was a relief when Blades finally announced that he was going on patrol. Then the relief turned to shock as the copter shot him a hopeful grin. "You wanna come along?"

 _No, yes, maybe,_ Vortex thought, as a jumble of hopes and fears and different scenarios all occurred to him at once. “Uh…”

“It’s all cleared with command,” Blades said. “Hot Spot suggested it. Can’t have a flier cooped up in here all day. And besides, I could do with the company.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug, as though he didn’t mind either way. But his expression said different.

And it was that expression which decided it. “Sounds good,” Vortex replied. “But, um, won’t the humans worry about me. You know, the Decepticon thing.”

“They think you’re some kind of super spy,” Blades said. “It was on the news.”

“Really?” He wondered whether Groove had broken any rules when he spun the humans that lie. If he had, he didn’t seem to have been punished for it.

“Yeah. You OK with people taking photos?”

Vortex nodded. If it made the humans happy, there was nothing wrong with it. The Autobots back home had his entire schematics mapped out, thanks to… He didn’t want to think about it. _The experiment_ , he thought, safer just to call it that. There was no harm in anyone taking photographs, no matter where they might end up.

“All right!” Blades grinned. “This is gonna be great. OK, meet me on the roof in one point five, I gotta go top up my coolant.”

* * *

Vortex was halfway to the roof when Swindle commed him. //You fraggin’ stood me up!//

//I didn’t mean to!// he responded automatically. //I never said I’d meet you there. I couldn’t get away, I…// He realised he was making excuses. Excuses he should never have to make. //Look, you’re not really my team mate, and I can’t really… Swin, just…//

//Just what, frag off and forget about it? Not likely. I don’t brush off that easy.//

Vortex focused on his ventilation, and forced himself up the remaining steps. 1.25 breems until Blades was due to appear; he couldn’t still be talking to Swindle then.

//You even listening to me?// Swindle said. //What the frag’s up? Didn’t we have fun?//

//Of course we did!// Vortex coded open the door and stepped out onto the roof.

//We get each other off, right?// Swindle said.

//Oh frag yes,// Vortex replied. //I mean no, I mean yes we do, but maybe we shouldn’t? I mean…// This was a bad idea. //Are you OK, after the other night? Has Onslaught… Are they treating you right?//

//What do you mean?// Swindle said, and Vortex could hear the sneer in his voice. //Did Ons get outta medbay and knock the ever-living slag outta me for fucking you? Course he fraggin’ well did!//

Vortex felt suddenly dizzy. He should have gone to Swindle when he had the chance, should have dragged him out of there, made the Autobots give him sanctuary. //Oh, Swin.//

//What do you mean ‘Oh, Swin’?// Swindle said. //I don’t need your pity.//

//I’m sorry,// Vortex said, although he knew he really shouldn’t be. He should have left it there, should cut the comm and let Swindle go back to his real life with his real team.

His evil team. With team-mates who abused and insulted and beat him. What kind of a life was that?

//Sorry don’t cut it,// Swindle said. //You wanna make it up to me, you’ll find a way to be with me.//

//I…// Vortex began, but there was a clatter on the stairs. Scrap, Blades was early. He leaned over the railing, trying to make it look as though he was watching the humans in the street below. //I don’t know if I can.//

Swindle huffed. //I was right,// he said. //Wasn’t I? I ain’t enough for you. You got a whole base full of precious little Autodolt heroes. Why the frag should I think you’d wanna hook up with me?//

“Great view huh?” Blades called.

Vortex heard the triple beep of the door locking tight. “Sure is,” he responded, trying to match Blades’ enthusiasm, but it just fell flat. //Swin,// he managed, but Blades was suddenly beside him, wearing that enthusiastic, hopeful grin, standing altogether too close. //Swin…//

//Still here, copter,// Swindle said. //Just repeatin’ my name ain’t gonna impress me.//

//I’m sorry Swin,// Vortex said, as Blades leant on the railing, evidently trying to pick out what Vortex was looking at. The Protectobot’s rotors quivered, reverberation from the motion of his frame; it was hard to resist touching them. //I gotta go. I’m sorry.//

//Sure you are.// Swindle choked a laugh. //Fraggin’ copters, you’re all the same.//

Vortex gripped the railing tight, not hearing the metal squeal; that stung. The evil Vortex came to mind, calling Swindle worthless, so casual and cruel. But he was no better, rejecting his team-mate – his _almost_ team-mate – with such pathetic, empty excuses. And then there was Blades back home, a whirlwind of destruction, impetuous and sadistic, and was he really an improvement? No control over his weapons, no control over himself. No foresight.

“You OK?” Blades said.

“Huh?” Vortex forced his hands to uncurl. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But the lie tasted sour. “Just thinking about stuff.”

Blades nudged him very gently on the arm with his shoulder, and for once Vortex didn’t flinch. “If you wanna talk about anything,” Blades said, “First Aid’s always up for listening. Or any of us. I mean, I’m not so great with all that advice scrap, but we could always go shoot the hell out of a few targets.”

//You got nothing to say for yourself?// Swindle said, his comm cutting through Blades’ kind words. //Figures.//

//I want you,// Vortex told him, hoping like crazy that Blades thought he was still thinking things over. //But I can’t see this working out.// He caught the return of Blades’ hopeful grin in his peripheral vision and nodded in response. Swindle was wrong, he thought, they weren’t all the same.

//It don't have to work out,// Swindle said, and the note of optimism in his voice was maddening. //You want me, I want you, it’s simple. OK, I’m gonna let you get on with whatever the do-gooders got you doing. But be ready, ‘cause I got a plan, and you’re gonna love it.//

He was gone so quickly Vortex didn’t have time to respond. Blades nudged him again. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s grab ourselves a slice of sky.”

* * *

//Great landscape,// Blades said. //Amazing what the humans do with it.//

The desert spooled out beneath them, vast swathes of yellow-brown rock and dusty soil. Vortex was fascinated, and not only because of the proliferation of tiny birds and animals that kept cropping up on his scanners, but because of the sheer variety in the colours of the earth itself.

It was a distraction, and an effective one. He didn’t think about Swindle for whole breems on end, and managed to keep his conscious mind well away from the question of what he was going to tell his team when he finally got home.

It might not be so bad, though. It wasn’t as though they’d never interfaced outside of their own tight little group. They just hadn’t recently. Maybe half a vorn or so.

Not since the experiment.

//Sure is!// Vortex replied, forcing himself back to the present. //They really make all those sculptures?//

//Huh?// Blades slowed a little. //What sculptures?//

//The little green ones,// Vortex said, suddenly uncertain. He scanned one – a spiky, bulbous form which looked a little bit like a human – and sent the data through to Blades. Two astroseconds later, he got the distinct impression Blades was trying not to laugh.

//They don’t make that stuff!// Blades said. //It just grows.//

// _Oh_.// No wonder Blades thought it was funny. //Uh… I’ve never been to an organic planet before. I thought all the living stuff that didn’t move around was, um, smaller?//

//Most of it is. Hey, you wanna see something cool?// Blades didn’t wait for a response, but veered off to the north.

//I thought we had a set route?// Vortex said. The last thing he wanted was to have Hot Spot angry with Blades for deviating from orders.

//We’re patrolling,// Blades said. //So let’s patrol on over to something really cool!//

Something really cool took almost a joor to reach, and turned out to be vegetation and sculpture all in one. Vortex hovered over the field of gently swaying stalks, each one barely as long as the smallest of his finger joints. And in the centre, a precise geometrical pattern made up of hundreds upon hundreds of stalks that had been bent to lay flat against the ground.

//Ain’t that something,// Blades said.

It sure was, especially against the backdrop of low hills and distant mountains. //The humans made this?// Vortex asked. He went in lower, but not so low that his rotor wash would disturb the pattern. //Wow.//

//Mostly,// Blades replied. //Beachcomber helped with this one. I think Perceptor designed it, it’s all about atoms and stuff. The humans go crazy for these.//

Vortex was about to respond when a new comm channel crackled to life. It gave him just enough time to hope that it was Swindle before a far more sinister voice eradicated all the good feeling.

//This,// Onslaught said, //is a warning. You only get one.//

 _Oh scrap._ Vortex transformed midair, scanning the clouds, the ground, everything and anything. Something was coming and it really wasn't good. But the only energy signatures within range belonged to him and to Blades.

//What is it?// Blades said. He remained in alt mode, static over the very centre of the crop circle.

//Get out of here!// Vortex yelled, but it was already too late. His world turned violet, a sinister pulse of laser fire screaming down through the clouds to strike - it seemed - at his very ember.

A nearby hill exploded. The ground spewed rock and rubble, and the shockwave hit him like a blow from Superion. He lost sight of Blades, lost sight of the earth, of the delicate organic sculpture, of everything but the searing purple light.

Humans screamed and dogs howled, and a hail of hot rubble fell from the sky.

The ground hit him hard in the rotor hub, but he was already rolling, spinning, clasping after reference points as his gyros struggled to stabilise. Pain blossomed in one of his rotors, but he ignored it.

//It's Blast Off!// he shouted down the commlink, as visual input finally came back online. //He's in orbit and he's shooting at us!//

//Blades to HQ, come in Hot Spot. Hot Spot, do you read me.//

Vortex heaved himself up, only vaguely aware of Blades making the call. They were still alone. Onslaught would be up there, aboard Blast Off’s alt, or else at the base Swindle had mentioned, or on the Nemesis. No point in direct engagement when he could simply annihilate Vortex from space.

Then Onslaught spoke again, and it was as though Vortex’s hydraulics froze. //Surrender or be obliterated. You have fifty astroseconds to comply.//

Blades still hung over the crop circle. His canopy was dented, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. //What’s your status?// he said. //Can you fly?//

//Root mode only,// Vortex replied. He disengaged his output shaft, the broken rotor dangling. //He’ll fire again, forty two astroseconds, now get out of here!//

//Skyfire’s moving to intercept,// Blades said. //I’m not going without you. Come on, we can find somewhere to hide, we-//

Vortex took to the air, pushing his thrusters to maximum, flying away from Blades. //Two targets are harder to hit than one,// he called, hoping that Blades would just accept it. He had to. There was no reason for them both to get scrapped.

If only Onslaught would come down to ground level. If only Blast Off would. He couldn’t take them in a fair fight, either of them, but at least he’d have the chance to defend himself.

Thirty astroseconds. //You’d better be moving!// he yelled.

//Get down,// Blades’ response was immediate. //Find cover, thicker the better, confuse his sensors.//

//On it,// Vortex said, but it wouldn’t work. They knew his energy signature, his frame type. Swindle had explored enough of him to know what real differences there were between him and the psycho copter. He could fly, but he couldn’t hide. Best to keep moving, take an erratic flight path, harder for Blast Off to lock onto him.

Twenty astroseconds. He thought of the humans screaming, the howling dogs. Were they scared or were they hurt? Had Blades gone to them, or was he getting the slag out of there like he ought to? No time to check, no time to do anything but fly in a randomised pattern, searching for somewhere soft in case he was lucky enough to crash, keeping away from the humans’ buildings, so fragile and small.

Ten astroseconds… nine… He watched his chronometer, the thought flashing through his mind that he should surrender. He should give himself up to Onslaught. He’d see Swindle again, they could work something out.

But he thought of the psycho copter, and of Swindle’s obsession. He’d shot Onslaught in the face, and they’d tried to kill him. What if _their_ Vortex was back? What if this was only about revenge.

What if this was the surprise Swindle had been talking about?

The thought made him falter. He lost altitude, his rotors engaging automatically, uselessly, the broken blade an agony of snapped wires and mis-firing sensors.

The countdown ended. There was no comm from Onslaught, no last ditch attempt to take him alive.

Instead, there was only light.


	13. Chapter 13

//Copter?//

Vortex groaned. The ground was slimy, uneven. The world smelt wrong; organic tang of chlorophyll, only the faintest hint of oil and energon. But there was ozone, lots and lots of ozone. And smoke.

// _Copter!_ //

He ran a diagnostic. Ember uncompromised; flight capacity at 57.3%, root mode only; small cracks to his helm, his side, glass shattered in both his feet; alt mode inoperable, one rotor snapped in half, the loose end dangling by wires. But his fuel lines were good, his weapons systems online and ready. He rebooted his optics, forcing them to recalibrate.

And wished he hadn’t.

The ground was torn, a gaping hole in the earth where there should have been fields, all scorched and strewn with debris. Around the edges small fires burned.

//Copter, for frag sake, I know you can hear me, _just answer me_!//

He shook his head, a little grit rattling in his vents. //Swin?// he said, before he could stop himself. He shouldn’t have done that. No need for this universe’s Combaticons to know that Blast Off had missed. And now they could pinpoint his location.

Better move. He scrambled to his feet and engaged his thrusters.

// _Frag!_ // Swindle swore. //Course it’s me, who the frag else’s it gonna be? You wanna patch me your coordinates. They ain’t gonna fire again. I’ll come get you when the heat’s off.//

Vortex gained height slowly, fragments of shredded vegetation falling from him like rain. OK, so maybe Swindle couldn’t pinpoint his location from the comm signal, but he was sure Blast Off would be able to, and Soundwave certainly would.

//No,// Vortex said. His injuries grated, the pain eclipsed only by the horror at how easily he had come to know these mechs by his own team mates’ names. It made him sick just to think about it.

//What do you mean no?// Swindle snapped. //You don’t think I had anything to do with them shooting you? That was Ons, it wasn’t me! They didn’t tell me, I had to find out from _Brawl!_ //

Did he? Swindle’s tone rang true, but Vortex stopped himself before he could apologise. It was frightening how eager he was to believe this mech. //I need to go,// he said. //Comm me later.// Scrap, he hadn’t meant to add that. Hadn’t meant to say anything at all. But what if Swindle really hadn’t been involved? He couldn’t punish him for Onslaught’s decisions.

And as for Blast Off, Vortex hoped he’d stay in orbit. Another dangerous enemy wearing the form of a true friend and companion would have been too much.

The horizon expanded as he gained altitude, the scorched earth behind him, the exploded hill ahead. A blurry smudge appeared against the clouds, and Vortex couldn’t help the smile which tugged at his sore faceplates.

//I got visual,// Blades said. Sharing the team comm with him again, including him.

//Status?// a new voice asked. It was Hot Spot, probably sitting in the Ark, or the control room back at Protectobot HQ.

//He’s good,// Blades said. //He’s in the air, and all in one piece.//

//Glad to hear it,// Hot Spot sounded pleased. //But I know what ‘all in one piece’ means to you. Hold your current position, we’re on our way.//

//Danger’s over then?// Vortex asked when Hot Spot had signed off. He came in to land, touching down just next to the crop circle field; the patterns were still visible, peppered with clots of mud and chunks of wood.

Blades transformed in the air, touching down with a smooth and practiced grace. “For now,” he said. He gave Vortex a once over, his optics flaring. “Yeeouch, that’s gotta smart.”

Vortex shrugged, and the broken rotor wobbled; it did more than smart, but that wasn't important. He glanced around. “I’m OK. What about the humans?” There was no screaming any more, no sound other than the wail of some kind of claxon.

“Paramedics are on their way,” Blades said. “So’s First Aid. They’re not really injured, just shaken up. Nothing much I can do.”

“What about the second blast?” Vortex said. Had he heard the sounds of humans in pain? He couldn’t remember. He’d hardly heard Swindle. It occurred to him that he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, or how long a human could survive under a heap of rubble or pierced by shrapnel.

Blades transformed again and hit the air. “Let’s check it out.”

* * *

They made it back to Protectobot HQ well after dark. Vortex was exhausted, but there was no chance he could just sneak off to the guest room. There were reports to be made, questions to be answered. All the tedious administration that Onslaught took care of back home, the Protectobots shared between themselves.

There were repairs too. Avoiding First Aid in the field had been easy. With humans to transport and rubble to move, there hadn’t been time to pause. Avoiding him back at base, however, was another matter entirely.

“No more excuses,” the medic said, stepping neatly between Vortex and the command centre door. On the other side of the room, in the lee of a large bank of monitors, Hot Spot debriefed Groove and Streetwise, while Blades delivered a verbal report to someone at the Ark.

It made him queasy, being in the same room as all of them together. It was a horrible feeling. They didn’t deserve it, especially after today. Seeing them work to help the humans, watching them do exactly what their team name suggested they should. They’d let him help, and he was grateful, but still he stood so that he could keep them all in his field of vision at once.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Really.”

First Aid sighed. “I don’t care how tough you are, damage requires treatment.”

“I can handle it.’” He could always tear out the damaged blade, get Hook to rebuild him when he got home. He tried to force a smile onto his face. “It’s only superficial.”

“Rotaries!” First Aid threw up his hands as though in defeat.

Blades turned briefly, grinning. “You’re swearing again? What’s gotten into you?” Then, on a private channel to Vortex, //I’d do what he says. He’s about to pull rank, in three… two… one…//

“I really don’t like doing this,” First Aid said, and the tilt of his head indicated that was an understatement. “But you leave me no choice.”

“OK,” Vortex said quickly. “Repairs. I’d be very grateful. Um.”

First Aid relaxed. “Right then,” he said, his voice suddenly cheerful. “Let’s get started.”

“Don’t forget to fuel up,” Hot Spot called as the medic ushered Vortex out of the room.

* * *

As he lay facedown on the repair trolley, Vortex reasoned that it was time to count the positives. The biggest positive: First Aid wasn’t evil. And he wasn’t insane either. Vortex looked longingly at the door. As before, there were no physical restraints; only his stubborn desire not to offend or upset the medic stopped him from leaving.

That, and the fact that this really was in his best interests.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” First Aid said. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“That’s OK, doesn’t hurt,” Vortex lied. He bit his lip, trying to reduce his physical responses to ones he could easily conceal.

Nevertheless, Vortex winced as First Aid wrenched on his rotor hub. Then a click, a tiny burst of current, and the pain from his rotor dissolved into numb relief. He couldn’t help the sigh of air from his vents; that felt really good. He relaxed a little, only then realising just how tense he had been.

First Aid deposited the broken blade in a tray. “That’s not exactly what I meant,” he said. His mask hissed open, revealing a worried smile. “When I repaired you before, I asked you if you weren’t used to medics, and you said it was ‘something like that’… There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t worry, please.” First Aid moved as though about to attempt a reassuring touch, then stopped himself. “You don’t have to talk about it, not if it makes you uncomfortable. Cliffjumper told us what your Cybertron is like, how hard it is there. He said the Autobots there aren’t like the Decepticons here, they’re… he said ‘deranged’. I just…” He grabbed a cleaning cloth and began wiping down his fingers. “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to live through that. If anything I do brings back bad memories, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Vortex had no answer to that. How could he tell First Aid that his very existence brought back bad memories? “I appreciate it,” he said, for lack of anything better. “Uh… Is it OK if I turn over now?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely.” First Aid stowed the cloth back in a compartment. “I need to work on your feet anyway. That is, if you’re all right with that?”

Vortex turned over, but didn’t lie back down. Sitting was better, not only because it didn’t put pressure on his back, but because he felt more in control. He nodded. “Sure.”

This time he watched. Not only while First Aid cleaned out the fragments of broken glass, and while he shaped the new sections, but while he fitted them too. He focused on the medic’s hands, trying to ignore his instinct to run, to fight, pushing it aside as he had the pain of his broken rotor blade. He forced himself to memorise the differences between this First Aid and the one back home. Their speech patterns, their mannerisms, even the subtle scents of their alloys and the pressure of their touch.

He couldn’t tell if it helped. His fans still whirred, and his cables were still taut, but was this slight nausea any better than his earlier queasiness? He was too tired to make sense of it.

“There,” First Aid said. He stood and rolled his shoulders, looking every bit as exhausted as Vortex felt. “I’ll have your new parts ready tomorrow.”

“Thank-you,” Vortex said.

First Aid smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now go get some rest.”


	14. Chapter 14

Vortex was one short corridor from blissful recharge when Blades leaned out of the energon storage room and blocked his way.

“I got some high grade,” he said, producing a small glowing cube. “You thirsty?”

Vortex’s olfactory sensors caught the gentle buzz of fumes and made the decision for him. “Scrap yes.” He caught himself. “That is, First Aid didn’t seem keen on drinking…”

Blades shrugged. “That was last night, this is tonight. C’mon, what the doctor doesn’t know can’t get me in trouble for at least another six joors.”

“Why six joors?”

“Because he just went into recharge in medbay. Don’t worry, Streetwise is gonna bring him upstairs.” He dangled the cube in front of Vortex’s face and grinned. “This is the good stuff.”

Vortex didn’t doubt that. He glanced at the door to his recharge, then at the cube.

Was Blades hitting on him? He wasn’t sure.

Did he _want_ Blades to hit on him? He deleted the question from his memory and tried not to think it again. There was no harm in a bit of high grade, surely?

“I don’t want to get you in trouble at all,” he hazarded. Especially not after almost getting him killed.

“You won’t,” Blades said. “Any trouble I get in, it’s all on me.”

The high grade shimmered, and Vortex’s primary intake hose constricted. “If you’re sure it’s OK…”

“Course it’s OK.” Blades ducked back into the storage room and gathered up a few more cubes, then he headed for the stairs. “You like the view from the roof, right?”

He did indeed like the view from the roof. Trying to suppress a tingle of excitement, Vortex followed the Protectobot up the steps and into the open air.

Blades sat himself down by the edge and patted the concrete next to him. Vortex settled, legs dangling, close enough to talk without raising their voices, but not so close that their armour bumped.

Down below, the city thrummed, a patchwork of different styles of Earth music stitched together with the steady hum of traffic and the buzz of human voices. Lights blazed in a stunning variety of colours, some static, some changing. But they didn’t reach the roof, where the only illumination was reflected from the clouds or emitted by the little pink cubes of high grade.

Aside from interfacing, it was the most relaxing thing Vortex had experienced in vorns.

“What a day,” Blades took a drink and sighed. “Frag that’s good. Always tastes better after a near miss. You must’a got Onslaught seriously torqued.”

“I’m just glad none of the humans were hit,” Vortex said. He didn’t want to think about the ones who’d lost their homes, or had their crops destroyed. It was one of the benefits of his own Cybertron, he supposed; there were no more civilians.

“It won’t happen again,” Blades said. “Mirage says Megatron never authorised it. Says he’s angry as the Pit. I wouldn’t wanna be Onslaught right now.”

Vortex didn’t think he was meant to know that, but it was a relief; he wasn’t on a general Decepticon hit list, just Onslaught’s. He hoped Swindle wouldn’t get caught in the backlash.

Blades nudged him. “Drink up, this stuff’s good, really.”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Vortex took a long, slow swallow. The hit was immediate, a reassuring, warm tingle that seemed to strike every part of him at once. “OK,” he laughed. “That’s strong.”

“Ha, yeah!” Blades leant back on his hands and looked up at the sky. “Got it off Slingshot, he’s got this distillery setup. Silverbolt is not amused, but Ratchet approves, _so_ …”

“Yours COs are really laid back,” Vortex commented. He took another swig; it wasn’t quite the quality of the stuff Swindle had, but it was far better than anything he got regularly back home.

“Yeah,’ Blades said. “Y’know, it’s really great having another rotary around.”

“Even when you’re getting shot at with an orbital death laser?” Vortex said.

Blades laughed. “Can’t help your evil counterpart’s team mates, eh?” He gave Vortex’s rotors a quick glance, then a slower one. “Gotta be weird going around with three,” he commented.

“It is kinda,” Vortex said. He clung onto his cube as Blades leaned closer. “Always got spares at home, I guess it’s the same for you.”

“Uhuh,” Blades said. “Hey, yours are a different alloy to mine, mind if I…”

Vortex yelped as a smooth, sliding touch lit up the sensors along one of his rotors.

“You OK?” Blades asked. “I mean, that pain block’s still working, right?”

“Sure,” Vortex managed. “Totally fine.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; he couldn’t feel the damaged coupling where his missing rotor should have been, but the problem wasn’t what he couldn’t feel, more like what he could. There was no question any more, Blades was hitting on him. He drained the rest of his cube and set it down before he dropped it.

“That’s good,” Blades said. He shuffled back a way, and Vortex craned to see what he was doing. “Wouldn’t want this to hurt.” The Protectobot grinned, and ran his finger along the leading edge of the lowermost blade. Vortex faced front again, and tried to pretend that this was just something rotaries did with absolutely no erotic overtones whatsoever.

And it could be. This universe was so different from his. One copter could give another a rub down without there being anything seductive about it.

That made sense until the next touch. Slow and cautious, Blades worked his hands lightly over Vortex’s rotors. He moved from the tips down, venting gently over the hub, almost teasing.

Vortex froze; he cut the power to his fans and locked his joints. The unwanted question came back to him – did he want Blades to hit on him? – and the answer was a resounding ‘yes’. But it was a ‘yes’ after a near death experience and a whole cube of high grade. Even inebriated, he realised that might not be the best set of circumstances for avoiding yet another morning of regrets.

Still, the warm glow of the energon met the glow of heated sensors, and made his internals dance in a wholly pleasant way.

There was a pause in the stroking as Blades gulped down a good measure of his drink. Then a wet splat on Vortex’s shoulder and Blades cursed. “Oh scrap!”

“Scrap?” Vortex willed his hardware to cool down, and tried to see what had happened.

“Just clumsy,” Blades said, although he sounded far too pleased with himself. “I got it.”

“Got what?” Vortex said, the froze anew as Blades licked the back of his neck.

That wasn’t where he’d spilt the energon.

“Don’t wanna waste it,” Blades said, and the vibrations from his voice were wonderful. Even better when those hands returned to his rotors. Vortex dragged air through his vents, finally letting his fans come online. If only Blades would reach around and tease out his spike.

No! What was he thinking? Another quick fix for his long-term problems.

But what a fix.

“Does that feel good?” Blades asked.

Vortex sighed and nodded. “Mmhmmm,” he replied.

“You really rev my engine,” Blades whispered. His glossa finally caught the dribble of spilt high grade. “Maybe we could take this somewhere more private?”

A shiver rant through Vortex’s more intimate hardware; Blades could take him wherever he liked. _How_ ever he liked too. He leaned back. “Here is good.” It was tempting just to open himself up, see what the Protectobot chose to do with him.

“Here could be an issue,” Blades said quietly. He tweaked a rotor tip, and Vortex gasped. “If some human takes photos...”

OK, that didn’t sound good. “Then where?” Vortex said.

“Follow me!”

Vortex didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast when he felt so unsteady. Blades grabbed the spare high grade, and launched the both of them back down the stairs, then along the hall and into a room Vortex didn’t recognise. It was simple, a desk and shelves littered with objects, and a clean, inviting bunk.

He leant against the wall and waited for his head to stop spinning. Was this the room with the ventilation that shared every whisper? Vortex really hoped not – or if it was, that it only shared it with the guest room – but there was no way to ask. No way to say much of anything with Blades’s hands on his arms, sliding up towards his shoulders.

He grabbed Blades around the waist and pulled him close. “You sure about this?”

“Oh frag yes,” Blades snarled, and kissed him hard. He clasped Vortex’s rotor tips, grinding against his overheated armour. It was too much to resist, and the last shred of Vortex’s reticence evaporated under the onslaught of the rising charge.

He broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “How?” But even that was too long. Much more satisfying to use his glossa for other things. Like exploring the texture of Blades’ lips, the taste of him, internal lubricants and the tang of energon.

Venting hard, Blades writhed against him, his hip catching the cover of Vortex’s interface housing. “Want you in me,” he said, his voice rough and demanding, and Vortex couldn’t stop his cover from opening, his spike hard and ready.

Vortex lifted him, and Blades held tight, his legs around Vortex’s waist, his lips parted and needy little murmurs emerging from the static. He cleaved to the kiss as Vortex sat him on the edge of the desk, his energy field a delicious warm buzz and his engine roaring.

“Now, frag, _please_ ,” Blades hissed. His rotors shuddered and his interface covers sprang back. There was no question of waiting. Vortex grabbed him by the hips and tugged, pulling Blades onto his spike in one smooth, quick motion that threatened to bring his charge to a peak there and then.

“Mmmm, oh yes!” Blades shoved the clutter aside and lay back, his rotors scratching the wall and hands braced on the hard metal, giving himself the leverage to buck his hips. “Don’t hold back,” he moaned, but holding back was all that Vortex could do.

Current pulsed and sensors fired, and Vortex gave himself a moment to let the charge disperse. He met Blades’ gaze and held it as his hands roamed, taking in the delicious dips and rises in the Protectobot’s armour, fingertips trailing over the ports of Blades’ conventional interface array.

Blades’ gasps were delightful, his squirming almost too good. His fingers scrabbled against the desk and his valve clenched.

“Tease!” he wailed, tugging hard with his legs.

Vortex grinned and pushed further in. “Just taking my time,” he said, as Blades threw back his head, his energy field flaring. Oh scrap, that was good. It had been too long. Sure, his comm chat with Swindle and the incident in the washracks had taken the edge off, but three days without interfacing was three days longer than he ever wanted to go.

Blades squirmed. “Tighter, faster, ugh!” His plea dissolved as Vortex seized him by the hips and began to thrust. “Oh frag yeah! Just like that!”

“So _good_ ,” Vortex groaned. It wasn’t just the electric tingle of sensors engaging, but the constant making and breaking of circuits as nodes slid past nodes, and the friction-heated lubricant conducted current into every last groove.

And it was the expression on Blades’ face, his optics flickering, his lips parted, completely unselfconscious and utterly wanton.

This time when the current peaked, Vortex could do nothing to stop it. He could only ride it out, still pounding into Blades, their armour sparking as it clashed and clanged.

“Arg frag yesyesyesahhhhhh!” Blades bucked his hips harder, his rotors bending against the wall. Then his valve clenched and Vortex saw nothing but stars until the heady pulses of aftershock robbed his limbs of hydraulic pressure and forced him to slow.

He leaned over Blades, venting heavily, one hand on the wall, and treated himself to another taste of the Protectobot’s lips.

“Wow,” Blades sighed. He made no move to unwind his legs from Vortex’s waist. Instead he returned the kiss, slow and languorous, while little ripples still echoed through his valve, pressing in on Vortex’s spike from all directions at once.

“Mmm, that feels good,” Vortex whispered. He gave a gentle little thrust, and Blades writhed.

“I’d feel better on the bed,” he suggested.

Vortex didn’t have to be asked twice. He lifted Blades and carried him over to the bunk. Amazing how soft the surface was, how easy to shuffle his rotors out of the way and arrange himself around his partner. It was so comfortable, like lying on air.

He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, kissing and stroking, their hands on each others’ rotor blades, their energy fields ablaze. Long enough for the charge to accumulate and peak anew, just from the caress and the surfeit of energon.

Then satisfaction turned to drowsiness, and finally Vortex’s systems began to shut down. Supremely contented, his last thought before recharge was that tomorrow morning would not be for regrets.


	15. Chapter 15

High grade had a lot to answer for.

The warm light of morning brought no regrets, thanks goodness, only clarity of mind.

Vortex couldn’t believe that he’d just gone at it with Blades. He hadn’t checked to ensure that the mech was ready, let alone that his team mates wouldn’t take offence. It was like Vortex had forgotten what it was to be part of a gestalt. Convenient amnesia, simply because he’d been horny.

Was still horny. Oh scrap, and with Blades lying there next to him, one leg slung over Vortex’s hip; so tempting, so touchable, and so completely and utterly unconscious.

Could wake him up, but no, that would be rude. Better to lay here and listen to the noises of other mechs wandering around in the corridor and the energon storage room. Their footfalls were muffled, their voices registering as nothing more than a low buzz.

Vortex thought of Blades’ ecstatic cries during overload. First Aid had been right, he couldn’t be quiet if he tried.

With a sinking feeling, Vortex realised that if the other Protectobots hadn’t quit the building straight after the debriefing, or gone into recharge as First Aid had, they would likely have heard it all. It didn’t matter if this wasn’t the room with the whisper-carrying vents.

Blades shifted and groaned, and Vortex wondered whether he should move. They weren’t gestalt, perhaps he wasn’t meant to have stayed the night.

Then Blades began to wake. He booted slowly, with a lot of stretching and yawning and shuffling ever closer to Vortex. “Morning,” he said drowsily, just before he brought his optics online. “Now that’s the kind of view I like when I wake up.”

“Hey,” Vortex couldn’t help but grin; this was looking hopeful.

“How’s your hub?” Blades asked.

Vortex shifted onto his front, pressing closer to Blades in the process. He flexed his three remaining rotors. “The block’s holding up,” he said. “Can’t feel the damage.”

“First Aid’s the best,” Blades commented. He gave the closest rotor a very gentle push. “Not sore at all? I mean after last night…”

Vortex sighed and flexed his legs. “Not at all,” he said, and sighed as Blades began to fondle his rotor tip. This was going far better than he could have anticipated.

“I know you won’t be here for long,” Blades said, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensors. “And I know you’ll have to go as soon as one of those portals opens, but until you do…”

“Mmhmmm?” Vortex responded. He shuddered, enjoying the warm buzz spreading out across his sensor net. His spike bumped gently against the inside of its cover, and his valve began to ache. He grinned as Blades knelt and shuffled into position behind him, one hand on his rotor, the other on his aft.

Blades leaned over him, venting warm air on the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he said, and the hand on Vortex’s aft slid down between his legs. “I can help you pass the time.”

“Oh yes,” Vortex sighed, and spread his legs wider, angling his hips up. Blades’ fingers traced the seams of his plating, his energy field tickling against the sensors and circuitry beneath.

There was a low, hydraulic hiss, and Vortex hoped – imagined – it was Blades’ spike cover drawing back. He brought his knees in closer to his elbows, raising his aft.

“You wanna interface?” Blades whispered, and Vortex could do nothing but whimper his agreement, his valve cover drawing immediately back.

And oh, he was so glad that Blades didn’t wait before slipping two fingers inside him, caressing and teasing and testing him all in one. He pushed back against Blades’ hand, urging the fingers deeper, and was rewarded with a staticky grunt and the hot press of Blades’ spike against his thigh.

“Oh frag yes, _please_ ,” Vortex moaned, as Blades continued to explore, drawing little pleasurable ripples with every movement of his fingers. And that other hand, the one on his rotor, stroking at exactly the right angle to catch every single sensor on the leading edge; Vortex hadn’t realised that interfacing with another rotary could be so good.

Not that they were exactly interfacing yet, but before Vortex could voice his impatience Blades replaced his fingers with the wonderful, wide hardness of his spike, and Vortex moaned happily into the bunk.

“Oh yeah!” Blades cried, pushing himself as deep as he could go. “You like that?”

“Yesyesyesyesyes!” Vortex managed, his fingers curled around the edge of the bunk, gripping hard. “Umph, faster!”

“You got it,” Blades growled, and Vortex hissed static as Blades’ fingers tightened around his rotor, and he began to thrust. It was as though Vortex’s insides melted, as though the rest of the world ceased to exist, let alone to matter, and the only thing that was or could be of any importance was the slick passage of metal against metal, and the growing thrill of the charge.

Blades grabbed his hips, angling his aft yet higher, his spike rubbing directly across Vortex’s ceiling node. It was too much to resist. Overload came in an urgent burst of hot pleasure, rippling out from his valve to spread over his entire sensor net. And still the spike moved in him, stretching him as his valve contracted, dragging yet more charge from his overheated nodes until at last Blades reached his climax, the rush of current making Vortex moan.

“Oh frag yeah!” Blades panted. He squeezed Vortex’s aft, giving another little thrust as the nodes discharged randomly, tiny prickles of pleasure cutting through the haze of satiation.

As far as Vortex was concerned, Blades could stay like that as long as he liked. “Mmmm, that was good,” he said, clenching again around the spike to draw out the last tingle of charge.

“We got time for another round,” Blades said, and Vortex was about to reply that there was nothing he’d like more when the door whooshed open and someone gasped.

Blades froze, still inside him, and Vortex tensed. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t quite help himself.

First Aid stood in the doorway, his visor bright and a hand over his mask. “Um… gosh, uh, I… I’ll come back later,” he stuttered, then left as quickly as he’d arrived.

Vortex expected Blades to go running off after him, but instead he withdrew his spike gently and flumped down onto the bunk. “O _kay_ ,” he said.

“Um, I hope I haven’t caused any problems,” Vortex began, but Blades shook his head.

“It’s good,” he said, giving Vortex an unmistakably lascivious glance. “Aid was just worried I was gonna take advantage of you. ‘Cause of, y’know, what Groove said.”

He was? Vortex didn’t know what to think of that. “I can tell him you didn’t,” he said. “I mean, if that’ll help.” Hang on, what Groove said? His databanks were still sluggish after the overload, but they yielded the required information.

Oh scrap.

There was no way to explain that Swindle hadn’t taken advantage without admitting that his programming was glitching. And there was no way to talk about that without telling Blades what had happened with the Protectobots in his own world.

But he was getting over his programming glitches; his interface with Blades had proven that. He could cope with this by himself. It was better to say nothing at all.

“If you want,” Blades said, reaching again for Vortex’s rotors. “But I’d leave it a while. Aid’s got a… thing for rotaries. I think he’s gonna need a joor or two to cool down.”

Vortex’s optics widened; why was Blades telling him this? “I am sorry though,” he said eventually. He leaned into the rotor petting, accepting the reassurance it brought.

“You don't need to be,” Blades said. “Hey, you wanna come out on patrol with me today? I can almost guarantee we won’t get shot at.”

Vortex couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah,” he said and smiled. “I’d like that.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the bottom of the page is a link to Interlude 1, by naboru. That fits between the end of Ch. 15 and the beginning of Ch. 16, and explains what First Aid got up to in that time :)

Patrol was cancelled. Hot Spot commed them from the Ark just as Vortex got out of the washracks. Co-ordinated Decepticon attacks on three oil refineries; Defensor was required. 

The base emptied almost immediately, leaving Vortex stranded in the rec room. There had been no time to fit his replacement rotor blade, hence he was out of action. It felt a little like abandonment, but he knew that was just the homesickness talking. And the frustration at being denied the opportunity to help. 

Still, he wished he’d got through the washracks faster; he should have apologised to First Aid already. Perhaps he should comm him? But no, he couldn’t disturb any of them while they were on their way to an emergency. It would be irresponsible, not to mention rude. 

He’d just have to explain when First Aid returned. And find some way to make it up to him.

Not that he could think of one. 

Sighing, Vortex tried to settle and watch some human entertainment. But he was up again after only half a breem, pacing the length of the rec room, tossing the TV remote from hand to hand. His missing rotor gave a ghostly tingle; he wanted to go flying. Again, impossible. He couldn’t abandon the base, and hovering above the human city in root mode without one of this world’s Protectobots as company could well get him shot. 

Getting shot would not be good. 

But perhaps _doing_ some shooting could be OK, provided he stuck to the training area. 

He abandoned the remote and headed out. 

The shooting range was even smaller than he remembered, but that didn’t matter. Just being outside helped. He flexed his three remaining rotors, focusing on the gentle rush of air and the tiny fluctuations in temperature. It was nice.

He set up a target and retreated to the opposite end of the yard. The city sounds were a jumbled low hum, putting him in mind of the night before. He couldn’t help but smile; perhaps Blades would be up for a repeat when he got back. 

After Vortex had apologised to First Aid, obviously. And made certain that the medic didn’t actually mind Blades providing him with a distraction. A comforting and exhilarating and incredibly satisfying distraction…

He raised his right arm and fired, his wrist tickling from the minor kick of each bullet as it left the barrel. None hit centre target, too distracted by the distraction. He shook his head, still smiling, and set everything up for a second round. 

//All alone, copter?//

The shot went wide, peppering the wall with dents, each impact churning out a cloud of brick dust. Vortex crouched, both guns aimed up, scanning the sky while his left arm reloaded. He had a moment of dissonance, where he wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed for going straight on the defensive, or wary of what might be to come. 

Slowly, the background buzz of the city grew again, and Vortex strained to detect any hint of Swindle’s engine. There was nothing. 

Nothing but a little line of text in the corner of his HUD: cautious, optimistic, pleased.

Oh no.

The rev of an engine in a nearby street, the roar of thrusters. Swindle’s head appeared above the wall. “Frag, you’re jumpy. Can I come in or are you gonna shoot me?” 

Vortex stood slowly. His fuel pumps raced, diverting energon to weapons, flight systems, alt mode relays, getting him ready to fight or to flee. Then Swindle smiled, and it was like a kick to his interface circuits. 

“Uh,” he said. “Um… You can’t come in. It’s uh…” The Protectobots’ base, and he was guarding it. Or being guarded by it. He wasn’t sure any more.

“Then you can come out,” Swindle said brightly. Hope and desire showed through the bond, and something else, something that didn’t translate into writing on Vortex’s HUD. Patience and a touch of confusion. 

Vortex couldn’t work it out. And he couldn’t work out how Swindle had found him, unless he’d enlisted Blast Off’s help, or maybe Soundwave. Neither of those options was reassuring. 

“I can’t,” he said, his tail rotors twitching. “I’m, um…”

“Sure you can,” Swindle said. “Just for a breem. Who’s it gonna hurt?” 

There it was again, that indication of desire and hope. Nothing malicious about it, at least nothing Vortex could detect. 

“I don’t,” Vortex began, but faltered. What could he say? That Swindle was no good for him, that they weren’t team, they weren’t even the same faction. That he’d found something wonderful with Blades, something worth holding onto at least until the portal opened and he could go home. 

But Swindle hovered there, leaning on the top of the wall, waiting. And the gestalt bond worked, didn’t it? Well, kind of. There had to be something right between them.

“You don’t what?” Swindle said, and his smile evaporated. The bond registered dread, optimism dwindling to nothing as he continued. “You don’t want me any more?” 

“Oh scrap no!” Vortex said. “Course I do, I just… I… We…” But it was too hard. How could he reject Swindle after all he’d been through with the psycho copter, and with Onslaught and probably the rest of his team as well? Vortex engaged his thrusters, thinking that it would only be for a breem. He could hold Swindle, reassure him. Nothing else need happen. Just a bit of comfort. 

He landed in the street outside, only for the wall to smash into his rotor hub as Swindle collided with him, his energy field alive and crackling, his fingers and mouth eager. 

Vortex sighed, his hands roaming across Swindle’s shoulders, his lips parting and charge prickling as the taste and feel of his not-quite-team-mate spread a delicious warmth right the way through him.

It was a long moment before he remembered Blades’ warning about humans taking photographs. And a far longer moment before he managed to disentangle himself from the embrace. 

“I got a plan,” Swindle panted, his optics so wide and bright that Vortex couldn’t help but stare at them. 

“Uhuh,” Vortex replied. It was impossible to think any further than that with Swindle’s grille pressed against his chest and the rumble of the smaller mech’s engine vibrating through his internals. Then Swindle’s fingers dug under his rotor hub, knocking against the sensor block. The pain was instant and all consuming, and Vortex hissed, his denta squeaking as they ground together. 

“You’re gonna love this,” Swindle whispered, his other hand feeling down towards Vortex’s spike cover. 

“Stop it,” Vortex said, and it was an effort not to raise his voice. “That hurts, just… Just stop.” 

Swindle backed up a pace, ‘confusion, uncertainty, dread’ scrolling across Vortex’s HUD. “Thought it’d get your engine going,” Swindle said. 

Vortex fought to stabilise his ventilation, to ignore the pain from his severed connections. “We can’t do this,” he said, putting a little distance between himself and the wall, and between himself and Swindle. 

“Sure,” Swindle shrugged. “No fraggin’ with your damaged bits, I get that now.” His smile returned, and with it his optimism. “You wanna hear my plan?”

Vortex didn’t. He wanted Swindle to give up and leave so he could go back over the wall and be sitting in the rec room patiently waiting for them when Blades and First Aid got home. But Swindle’s need was urgent, so vulnerable and open; it made Vortex’s ember ache. 

“OK,” he sighed. 

“All right,” Swindle said, and pressed against him again, hands on Vortex’s shoulders. “I sneak you back to HQ, get you repainted, get them little drones in medbay to change that blue visor of yours for a red one. Then we work on your public persona and bam! Copter swap, it’ll be perfect!”

“Onslaught knew before,” Vortex said. “This won’t fool him.” _And that_ , he thought, _is not the reason you should be saying ‘no’_. He tried again. “We’re not team!” 

“We could be!” Swindle cried, his voice so full of triumph that for a moment Vortex believed him. 

“But we’re not,” Vortex said. “I need to go home. I _want_ to go home.”

“Yeah,” Swindle pressed. “Home, with me, to HQ. You’re gonna love it there, loads of space, no other mechs fraggin’ things up. Thrusters is always in space and Ons is always working. It’ll just be me and you and Brawlie.” He traced a line around the edge of Vortex’s faction marking. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Vortex took another step back. “No,” he said. “This is wrong.”

Swindle sniffed. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong about it?” he said, advancing again. “Course you can’t,” he continued without pausing to let Vortex respond. “’Cause there’s nothing wrong about it. It’s a brilliant plan!”

Again, that ache in Vortex’s ember, glowing hot enough to eclipse the pain of his broken rotor. Text scrolled through his HUD – hope, anticipation, need, desire – and through the bond itself, that wordless patient confusion again. “I can’t go with you,” Vortex said. “Please, Swin…”

“Don’t give me that,” Swindle said. “It’s a straight swap, you for him. He’ll do better over there, it’s all fragged up, just like he is. No-one’s gonna lose out.”

“You’re not thinking straight,” Vortex said, but his heel hit something small and mobile and his feet rolled out from under him. “Gah!” His visuals blanked, the jolt of pain from his broken rotor overloading his sensor net for one terrible numb moment. Then the data began to flow again, and Swindle was kneeling over him, kissing him, his hands everywhere, his energy field tingling and tempting. 

“Want you,” Swindle moaned, straddling his legs. “You gotta come back with me.”

“I can’t.” Vortex struggled to sit. 

“Then you give me no choice,” Swindle said, pulling back. “Now!”

Vortex didn’t have time to react. Someone large and strong seized his arms from behind; two clicks and his wrists were cuffed. Another click and the restraints activated, humming their threat horribly close to his damaged rotor hub. He froze. “Swin…”

“All right,” Swindle stood. “Let’s get out of here before the Autoglitches get back.” He grinned happily down at Vortex. “You’re gonna love HQ. This’ll be great, honest.”

“Let me out right now,” Vortex snapped. He tried not to think about the mech behind him. Just focus on Swindle, Swindle’s the one in charge. “I mean it, _now_.”

“C’mon,” Swindle said. “Just relax. Brawl, you said you’d carry him.”

Oh scrap, that wasn’t good. 

“Do I gotta?” Brawl whined. “I cuffed him for ya. Why’s he still awake?”

That faint feeling of confusion intensified, and everything suddenly clicked for Vortex. Swindle he received in words, but Brawl came through the gestalt link in odd little snatches of insight. He clung to the realisation, trying to work out how it might be useful to him. 

But it was hard, just thinking was hard. He didn’t like being restrained, too strong a reminder of the experiment. And to come from these mechs – mechs _wearing these forms_ , he reminded himself – it was too much. He began to struggle.

“Fraggit, copter!” Swindle groaned. “Just relax. It’s like a joor and a half flight, it’s nothing.”

“He ain’t relaxin’,” Brawl commented. 

That was an understatement. The energon cuffs were caustic, a sharp and biting jolt each time he moved. But he couldn’t not move; it was unthinkable. “Let me go!” he demanded. 

“Just recharge!” Swindle howled, and the note of exasperation in his voice was mirrored by the dread and frustration indicated through the gestalt bond. “You put Tex in cuffs, he gets all drowsy. Why the frag don’t you!”

“’Cause he ain’t our Vortex?” Brawl suggested. “An’ I think that was just, like, when _you_ put him in cuffs. Uh…” He sounded disappointed. “You said this one’d wanna come with us.”

Swindle raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just pick him up. We’ll talk about this back at base.” 

“Oh no,” Vortex said. “Nonononono! You are _not_ picking me up!” 

Brawl grabbed him and he twisted, his foot connecting with Brawl’s head. But it wasn’t hard enough, and suddenly there was a cannon barrel wedged against his shoulder, and a caterpillar tread under his chin. 

“Brawl, put me the scrap _down!_ ”

A new engine roared at the other end of the alley. “I’d do what he says, old chap.” 

Brawl paused. Vortex couldn’t see the newcomer, but the song of laserfire began a mere astrosecond after he’d stopped talking. He had to be an Autobot. 

“Get in the air!” Swindle yelled, and Brawl soared up, but something hot sliced through the air by Vortex’s leg and Brawl yelled, his grip loosening. Vortex twisted again, trying to engage his thrusters, his useless rotors turning in a blaze of agony. 

The ground rose up to meet him, and the lights went out. 

“I say,” a kind voice cut through the dark. “I say, can you hear me?”

Vortex groaned. The gestalt bond was empty, no strangely fleeting insights, no words. Nothing. “They’ve gone,” he said. 

“And a good job too. Pair of ruffians. The name’s Hoist.” A green shape resolved, topped by a masked grey face and blue visor. A dark green hand stretched out towards Vortex, palm up. “I’m one of the good Autobots. Let’s get you back inside, then I’ll have a go at those cuffs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Hoist, that is all <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains reference to non-consensual medical procedures, and torture. 
> 
> Also contains fluff <3

“I was on patrol,” Hoist said. He motioned Vortex to sit down on the edge of one of First Aid’s examination tables. “I spotted hostile energy signatures and came in for a closer look. Very glad I did, as well.”

“Me too,” Vortex replied. He sat awkwardly, his hands still cuffed. Hoist had fixed the sensor block before they even got indoors, but the restraints were something else. 

As was Hoist. His colouring was similar to several Autobots back home, but he was so pleasant and careful. Gentle too, although he’d used his pistol well enough in the alley. And his accent, somewhat similar to Onslaught’s; Vortex could listen to it all day. 

“All right, this might tickle a bit,” Hoist said. He shuffled behind the table, and Vortex heard the buzz of an energon saw. “Keep those rotors as still as you can.” 

Vortex fought to obey as the buzzing got closer, the vibration spreading up his arms. 

“Aaaaaaaand, done!” The cuffs wobbled, then dropped with a thud onto the table. 

Vortex sighed. “Thank-you,” he said. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his wrists, then gave them a quick once-over. Some of his paint was missing, but there was no further damage. Happily, his fuel pumps were beginning to settle, and the panic had faded to a low grade anxiety. 

“You’re very welcome,” Hoist replied. “Now, let’s take a look at your other scrapes. Cliffjumper tells me it’s frightfully tough on your Cybertron, so I’m sure this is nothing to you, but we do like to keep our friends in tip top condition.” 

“Um… Thankyou.” Vortex let Hoist shift him around, giving his other injuries a thorough examination. He wasn’t sure what to say about his Cybertron, just the thought of it made his ember ache with an intensity that seemed to drain the power from his sensor net. 

“I suppose it’s what you’re used to,” Hoist continued. “Energon shortages and wotnot. Been through similar in my time. Horrible business. My good friend Grapple thought about building a machine that could create a dimensional portal on command, then we could come on over and help out. Or evacuate your Cybertron of all of you fellows.”

“He did?” Vortex said. He leaned to the side, giving Hoist better access to his vents. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, leaving Cybertron for good. But having his team with him, in this reality… It was tempting. 

Until he thought about this universe’s Swindle. 

And Blades. Neither would be easy to explain. Although he would have to, even if his gestalt never came here; there could be no secrets from his team. 

Hoist harrumphed in response to Vortex’s question, distracted for a moment as he scraped alley dirt from a vent cover. 

“It’s an exciting idea, isn’t it?” Hoist said, straightening up. “But utterly impossible. At least with the equipment to hand. And the humans, oh they _are_ a wonderful species, but so curious. They’d be through that portal and trying to colonise the other side before you could say ‘Don’t do that, it’s dangerous!’. Not that they’d listen. Lift your arm, please.”

Vortex complied; the vent cleaning tickled, the first truly pleasant sensation since Swindle had dislodged his sensor block. “Impossible?” he repeated. 

“Utterly,” Hoist replied. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you home. Those portals open up all by themselves, we’ll find a new one soon. You’re getting along with the Protectobots, I take it?”

“Uh, sure,” Vortex said, hating the way that his engine almost stalled. He could really do with Blades right now. But before Blades, he would have to talk to First Aid. His rotors shivered.

Hoist paused. “That wasn’t the cheerful confirmation I was expecting,” he said. “They’re treating you well, I take it?”

“Of course!” Vortex said, a little too loudly. It was a horrible idea that he might have led Hoist to think different. “I… I just…” He stared at the floor. “It’s…”

“Difficult?” Hoist suggested. He sat on the examination table beside Vortex, and sighed through his vents. “Complicated?”

Vortex nodded. 

“I know we’ve only just met,” Hoist said, “but if you need a friendly ear, as the humans put it, I’m here for you. Doctor-patient confidentiality assured.”

Something squeaked, and it was a moment before Vortex realised it was the edge of the berth as it bent between his fingers. He let go slowly, and his vocaliser clicked as it reset, but no other sound emerged.

Hoist gave a quiet cough. “It can’t be easy,” he said, “being so far from home.”

“No,” Vortex replied, and suddenly the text was scrolling through his mind, the words lining up to spill from his vocaliser. The experiment, the Protectobots back home, First Aid’s hands. Swindle. His rotors shook as he took a long, deep vent and tried to clear his cache. It wasn’t right to let that out. It wouldn’t be fair on Hoist, on Blades. 

“Have you told them?” Hoist said, without asking what Vortex had to tell.

“Yes,” Vortex said, then, “No. A little. Kind of.” 

Hoist nodded. “Sometimes it’s helpful to open up,” he said. “Flushes everything out. It’s like getting your coolant changed.”

A low thud echoed through the building, and Vortex looked up. He listened for the chatter of voices, but there was nothing, just the clang of footfalls on the stairs. 

“Sounds like someone’s home,” Hoist commented. He shuffled off the exam table and passed Vortex a cloth. “Better make yourself presentable. Nothing like oil to ruin a nice, white paintjob, eh?” 

Oil? Where had that come from? But there was no time to wonder, because the door opened and First Aid walked in. Vortex’s engine did stall this time, but at least his weapons remained on standby. 

“I’ve hijacked your medbay,” Hoist said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” First Aid replied; he sounded as though he was smiling, although the happiness soon drained from his voice. “What happened?”

Oh scrap, First Aid did not need to know about this. “Nothing!” Vortex said, as his engine re-started and his fans kicked in. “Um, I mean, not much? Hoist fixed it, so it’s all fine.”

“Hoist fixed what?” First Aid said. He walked over, giving Vortex a sceptical look. “What happened to your hands?”

Hoist waved a spanner in the air. “A pair of ‘cons were trying to hoof off with him,” he said. “Terrible business. Got into a little fire fight, but the ‘cons got away.” 

First Aid tensed. “Who?” he said.

“Swindle and Brawl,” Hoist answered, and Vortex cringed. What was he going to tell Blades? 

And how could he apologise now? Fraternising with Swindle again, after everything that had happened.

Hoist’s communicator beeped. “Must dash!” he said. He paused to replace the spanner, and whispered to Vortex as he passed, “Talk to him, you’ll feel better afterwards.” Then he was gone. 

First Aid sighed and sat down on the exam table in the exact same spot Hoist had recently vacated. “Goodness”. He clasped his hands between his knees. “I’m so sorry.”

Vortex gaped. Why was First Aid sorry? 

“I didn’t think,” First Aid continued. “We should never have left you alone here, not after yesterday.”

“Um,” Vortex said, fighting the impulse to edge away. “About yesterday. I mean this morning. I mean…”

The Protectobot’s mask drew back, revealing a wan smile. “That’s not important,” he said, and the smile died. “We left you undefended, anything could have happened.”

 _It is important_ , Vortex thought, but First Aid chose that moment to reach over and take a very gentle hold of his arm. Vortex panicked. He flung himself from the exam table, his guns charging and his rotors shaking worse than they had since the Nemesis. His aft hit a workbench, and one of his blade tips caught on a box of screws, sending them flying. 

“I’m sorry!” Vortex said over the clatter. He gripped the hub of his tail rotors, but the sensation wasn’t soothing as it should have been. “Oh scrap, I didn’t want...” He trailed off; First Aid looked stricken. He should go back, try to undo this. But his servos locked, freezing him in place. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to shock you,” First Aid said, using that same patient tone he used during repairs, but his ventilation was ragged, his voice cracked. There was a flicker of a shadow in the recesses between his cheeks and his helm: his face mask about to close, then stopping. “I…” His gaze rested just to Vortex’s left and his optics dimmed. “I was only trying to offer comfort. I overstepped the mark, I can see that now. I hope you can forgive me.”

This wasn’t right, there was no reason for the medic to apologise. But Vortex didn’t know what to say to make it better. He had the urge to flee, head back to his room and hide there until Blades returned. Or leave base completely, fly around until he found one of the portals all by himself. 

But those were a coward’s way out. And First Aid was hurting, drawn in on himself, staring at his feet as though he’d done something terrible. Was he feeling betrayed, perhaps? Or embarrassed at having thought that because his team mate’s touch was welcome, his would be too.

It should be, Vortex thought. It wasn’t the mech that was the problem – he was wonderful, heroic – it was his resemblance to the First Aid back home. It was only superficial, but utterly inescapable.

Vortex pushed himself away from the worktop. He’d overcome his fear of Blades, had managed to separate the mech here from the one back home. He could overcome his fear of Blades’ partner. 

Shakily, he made it to the exam table. “It’s me who needs to apologise,” he said, as the medic glanced up. He forced a redistribution of hydraulic pressure, a tightening of cables; his servos ground out their complaints in a light squeal of metal, but he made himself touch First Aid on the hand. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You’ll do yourself an injury,” First Aid said, the shadow of a smile on his lips. “You’re too tense. Let’s go upstairs.”

* * *

Hoist had been right, Vortex needed to talk. But he didn’t want to.

He sat at one end of the large, squishy sofa, and First Aid sat at the other, knees curled under him, feet on the seat. His optics rested on the glimmer of oil which he’d forgotten to wipe from his thigh, and he struggled to regain the words he’d wanted to say earlier, to Hoist. 

They weren’t there. 

“If you need fuel,” First Aid said. “Or anything really. Just let me know.” He smiled, and Vortex couldn’t work out if he looked hopeful or merely sad. 

He had to explain. If not about Swindle, then certainly about the Protectobots in his own universe. He should have said something days ago, when First Aid had spoken about friends that looked like enemies. 

“I’m fine,” he said, and it was only half a lie. He didn’t need fuel, at least. A data purge, perhaps, a wipe for those areas of his memory that were tainting the present. But he’d lose so much that he’d endured with his team, shared with them. He couldn’t ask for that. 

There was, however, something he could ask for. He drew his feet up, a mirror of the Protectobot’s pose, and tried to smile. 

“Take your time,” First Aid said. “It’s just us for now, and no-one’s going to come in without asking first.”

“You’ve told them?” Vortex said, not even sure what he thought First Aid might have said. 

“Just that I’ve commandeered the rec room,” First Aid replied. “That’s all. How’s the sensor block holding up?” 

“Good,” Vortex said. First Aid’s tactics were obvious; distract him a little, relax him with superficial chatter. It was working, but it wasn’t what he needed, and he didn’t think it was what First Aid needed either. All right, time for the plunge. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he muttered. “That you, um, caught… uh…”

This time First Aid did smile. “There’s nothing to apologise about,” he said. “I’m sorry I burst in on you. How about we call it even?”

Vortex nodded, but the weight he was hoping would lift didn’t budge. And he still couldn’t find the words to explain his aversion to being touched by First Aid. 

“Thankyou,” he said, then, “Would… Would you connect with me?” He made himself continue before he could fully register the shock and hope in First Aid’s expression. “I need to show you something,” he said. “It should explain a lot. But you’ll have to access the data, I… I can’t.” 

_Won’t_ , he thought, not _can’t_. It was physically possible for him to access those files, go through all those memories, but he didn’t want to. Thankfully, it seemed First Aid understood. He uncurled, repositioning himself facing Vortex, but with his feet on the floor rather than the seat. 

“How would you like to proceed?” he asked. 

“Um…” Vortex tried not to hunch down. He forced the catch to release on the cover to his conventional interface array. “You lead?”

First Aid nodded, and Vortex focused on his ventilation and the slow thud of his fuel pumps as the medic drew closer. He didn’t want to watch, but he felt like he had to, _needed_ to. 

First Aid was gentle, his hands steady, his touch professional as ever. But his expression was concerned, nervous perhaps, as he eased Vortex’s cover aside, and the subtle tingle of his energy field rippling out from his fingers was light and uneven. 

“Is this all right?” First Aid asked. Vortex nodded, trying desperately to think of something, _anything_ else while his optics followed the action of First Aid’s fingers. 

All the things that came to mind were things he didn’t want to dwell on. First Aid back home, looming over him, optics bright and his fists full of Swindle’s wiring. The poisoner’s smile, wide and enthusiastic, as crazy as his laugh. The little song he sang as his chemicals and viruses sliced neatly through the gestalt bond, leaving Vortex alone and isolated in the cold, harsh glare of the laboratory’s lights. 

Vortex shivered and gripped his tail rotors tightly. 

First Aid frowned. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he said. 

“Yes,” Vortex replied, although he knew he didn’t sound it. “Yes,” he repeated, firmly this time. “I’m sure.”

“OK,” First Aid said. “But it’s all right to change your mind. Whenever you like, just let me know.”

Vortex nodded, but he didn’t want to back out. He wanted this over with. Then maybe they could talk. First Aid would know the right questions, he had to, and Vortex would find the answers somehow. And then it would be all right between them. 

It had to be.

He flinched as First Aid touched his panel, but managed to relax as the medic gave his port a quick inspection. “I’m going to need an adaptor,” he said. “Bear with me.” 

The wait was excruciating. Sitting there with his cover off while First Aid ran down to medbay. He almost left, charge accumulating in his flight relays, his root mode thrusters itching. His three remaining rotors shivered uncontrollably, and all he could think of was his torturer’s hands on his exposed circuits, hostile code worming its way through his mind. 

Eventually, First Aid came back, and settled again on the sofa. He sat closer than before, their legs almost touching. 

“Ready?” he asked, and Vortex murmured his assent. The connection came quickly, the shock of cool metal in his port, a trickle of residual energy. First Aid’s ventilation was slow, calm, but his EM field was erratic, and Vortex could have sworn he felt an increase in the heat radiating from his frame. 

Then First Aid pinged for access to his databanks, and Vortex let him in.

“Guide me,” First Aid said, speaking the words aloud but softly. Vortex nodded, and offlined his visual input the better to concentrate. But he brought it immediately back online; he needed to watch First Aid’s hands, he didn’t want to bolt again if First Aid tried to touch him. 

_When_ First Aid tried to touch him. 

Venting deeply, he sifted through the files. That far back, everything was neatly arranged, so many memories un-retrieved for so long, but altogether too easy to come across. And so many others that opened without his intent, triggered by something as simple as an odour or a sound, the sight of a familiar frame, the touch of a medic’s hands. 

“These,” Vortex said, and offered a list. Full memories and fragments, fever dreams and things he knew had been real but didn’t want to believe. He lay them before First Aid, but didn’t open them himself. It was bad enough when he accessed them by accident. 

First Aid nodded, his optics dim and his energy field stabilising. He opened one. 

Vortex cringed, and waited for immersion. 

“Oh my,” First Aid whispered, as images skittered around the edge of Vortex’s consciousness, growing increasingly more prominent. Sounds too, along with scents and the ghost of a touch, the sickening jolt of fingers poking his ember. 

A laugh, high and giddy, and a flash of green liquid. It glowed, and Vortex winced as he imagined it forced down his own throat. But it was the poisoner who drank it, leaning against the bunk, shuddering and giggling. 

Another file opened, his team behind bars, shackled, separated. At least they could see each other. 

An experiment, forced isolation from the gestalt bond. Swindle tortured as he watched and could do nothing to console him. Couldn’t even reach him. 

His hands began to shake and he gripped his tail rotors so hard it hurt. Beside him on the sofa, First Aid was utterly still. 

The data flowed, and he did nothing to stop it. Acids in his intakes, experimental fuel in his tanks. Immobilised for the purposes of experimentation, those white hands flitting in and out of his visual field. They opened his armour, removed parts, added things that were never meant to be there. They hooked him up to machines he couldn’t see, and ran tests on every part of his sensor net until his vocaliser shorted from the screaming. 

A gasp from First Aid, a tremble that echoed through his EM field. Then a pulse of warmth through the connection, an attempt at reassurance without touching. 

Vortex could do nothing to respond. 

He’d know it would be bad. But the data streamed through his conscious mind, bringing with it the feeling of utter helplessness, the frustration and the dread and the bleak absence of hope. He’d been deluding himself if he hadn’t thought it would be _this_ bad. He clung to Hoist’s words; he needed this out and shared. He needed First Aid to understand. 

“We can stop.” First Aid’s voice reached him as a whisper, drowning in static. 

Shivering, Vortex shook his head; someone in this reality had to know. He opened the final file himself.

Alone in the lab for cycle after cycle. Had they forgotten about him? But that was impossible. Shouts on the edge of hearing, slamming doors and the building shaking as though something had exploded. Perhaps the Protectobots were dead? No way to be sure, but so much time to think about it. He’d rust here without them, no-one to let him out, no way to move with his hydraulics disconnected, even without the chains. 

The lights failed, his fuel ran low. Alone in the dark, his third quartex of complete and utter isolation from his team. Then the slow ignition of heat in his ember, a spark of knowledge, companionship, of hope and fear. A miracle as the gestalt bond re-established.

But it was a shadow, no true connection. He couldn’t speak to them, could only read their vital signals, feel the shape but not the content of their thoughts. 

He had to get to them. 

Frustration built, sending coolant flooding around the few lines that were still connected. Insufficient, and his vents weren’t working; it was as easy to cool himself as it was to get free. His processor ached with the fever-heat, phantom images spilling into his HUD, ghostly sensations taunting his frame; a grinding weight settled on his ember, and panic blazed through his circuits. 

More shouts echoed through the building, a song of laser fire, the distant thud of explosions. Pain through the bond, jarring in its intensity. Then Brawl’s energy signature guttered and died. 

On the sofa, Vortex clung to the thought that it was a lie, that Brawl had been alive all the time. That the fight, the sensations, even the bond had been fabricated for an experiment. 

It didn’t help.

In the dark, over-heated and nauseous and completely and utterly alone, he had felt his team mates die. Brawl first, then Swindle, Blast Off and finally Onslaught. All of them gone, and him left by himself in the blackness of the lab for cycle after cycle as the machines monitored his responses and he grew progressively weaker.

He didn’t know how long it was before the lights came back on and those white hands returned. 

The data stream died, and the present filtered back. 

First Aid sighed. “I’m so sorry.” 

Vortex bit his lip, but again could find no way to respond. The memories clung, his armour crawling even after the files had again been closed. _Don’t be_ , he wanted to say. This was _his_ apology, his explanation; it wasn’t a reason for First Aid to feel bad. But saying so – saying _anything_ – seemed impossible.

The medic looked down at his hands, his face caught in an expression of utter horror. “I had no idea…” He glanced at the connection, then back at his hands. “Would you disconnect us. I…”

Disconnect? Oh scrap no. “Do I have to?” Vortex blurted. “I mean…” The words threatened to dry up again, but he forced himself to speak. He didn’t want to be alone. “Can we just stay like this. I mean, for a little while?” 

“Really?” First Aid looked up. His optics were wide but the horror had drained from his expression. It was replaced with something Vortex wanted to think was hope. 

Vortex gave a brief nod and shuffled around, ruffling his rotors and trying to ease the tension from his linkages. If only he could keep the connection, keep First Aid close for a while without touching, then maybe it would help. Maybe First Aid would send another burst of comfort his way. Maybe more.

The medic tucked his feet up under himself, and buried his hands beneath his knees. He leaned side-on against the sofa-back, and offered a tentative smile. “That would be nice,” he said.


	18. Chapter 18

Neither spoke for a while. It was pleasant to sit in First Aid’s company, only the adaptor and a short stretch of empty air between them. Nothing much passed along the cable; it was comforting just to be connected. 

The Protectobot lounged against the seat-back, his head resting on his hand, fingers tucked away, and his gaze politely focused on the arm of the sofa. His other hand was behind his knee, his legs curled up on the immense, soft cushions. Vortex wanted to tell him that it was OK, First Aid could touch him if he wanted, but he wasn’t sure whether or not that would be a lie. 

He shuffled around again, only realising once he’d settled that he’d mirrored the medic’s body language exactly. It wasn’t a subtle signal, and he couldn’t help but hope that First Aid would pick up on it. A zip of charge shimmered through his circuits at the thought. 

“How are you feeling?” First Aid asked. He made brief optical contact, offered a smile.

“Better,” Vortex said, and that certainly wasn’t a lie. The weight had been lifted, and although his body still registered the after-effects of his panic, his helplessness and dread, the relief was profound. “Thank-you,” he added, as his rotor blades finally stopped vibrating. He sighed, wishing he could catch First Aid’s gaze again, hold it this time. “I’m sorry about earlier. Are you…”

“I’m fine,” First Aid replied. “And there’s no need to be sorry. I should have guessed it wouldn’t be easy for you, being here. We’ve all heard Cliffjumper’s stories. I just,” he paused, his expression growing sombre. “I didn’t stop to think. I got swept up in the idea of having you around.” 

He did? Vortex couldn’t help but smile. Another buzz of charge tingled through his frame, and the dregs of the nausea seeped away only to be replaced by a thrill of nervous anticipation. His hydraulic pressure wouldn’t settle, his frame was ready for movement, his systems prepared for action. Not that he wanted to flee any more; the movements he hoped for would be slow and gentle and enjoyable. Something to erase the taint of bad memories, to bring him back to his frame and root him there. Nonetheless, he was jittery. 

“May, um…” He stalled, a little of the panic spilling back; First Aid ‘hmm’ed in query. He must have felt it, although he didn’t say anything. Taking a long, deep vent, Vortex tried again. “May I connect with you?”

First Aid’s jaw dropped, and the shock on his face gave Vortex a moment of deep and piercing regret. Then the shock morphed into another of the medic’s hopeful smiles. His optics glimmered. “Of course,” he said. “I… That is…” He fumbled in a compartment on his thigh, evidently trying to keep his fingers out of sight. “I’d like that very much. I have another adapter here… Somewhere... Aha!” He went to hand it over, then froze at the same moment as a jolt of uncertainty ran along his cable. He winced, and gave his own outstretched hand a guilty glance. 

With another slow push of air through his vents, Vortex reached out and took the adaptor. These were different hands, he reminded himself. The fingers his brushed against belonged to a good person, someone who would never hurt him, who had fixed him more than once. Someone who so obviously still wanted to touch him, but who had the self control to hold back. 

“Shall I?” Vortex asked, and First Aid nodded, then tilted his hip to give better access to the panel at his waist. 

There wasn’t much difference in their connectors; they were a similar size, but a subtly different shape. Just enough to necessitate an extra stretch of metal. Leaning close, Vortex grinned at the flush of heat from the Protectobot’s frame. He clicked the adaptor home, and tried not to gasp as the second part of the interface established. 

A fresh buzz of anticipation, a tingle of pleasure, and _finally_ First Aid sent another of those wonderful pulses of warmth and comfort. Vortex returned the sentiment in kind, and First Aid squirmed further into the cushions, again hiding his free hand. 

“That’s really nice,” he commented, and stretched out one of his legs. It came to rest very close to Vortex’s knee. “You’re really nice,” he added. 

Vortex almost missed First Aid’s quick glance at his rotors, but he could never have missed the embarrassed grin and the momentary shift in the data stream, the comfort laced for a fraction of an astrosecond with hope and a hint of physical arousal. 

“Um,” First Aid began, but Vortex shifted his knee, bringing their plating into contact, and the medic went silent. 

_I like you,_ Vortex thought. _I mean_ really like you. But it wasn’t the kind of thing he could say. He had the urge to initiate further contact, but that too seemed impossible. How would he even begin? If only First Aid would make a move, like his team mate had the previous night. Like Vortex was sure he’d tried to do back in medbay.

It was an effort to keep the data steady, not to flood the connection with energy and a dozen little hints at his needs and desires. He couldn’t force this on the medic; couldn’t force it on anyone, the idea was obscene. He had to ask – and carefully – to make absolutely certain that First Aid wanted what he seemed to want. 

“I’d like to make it up to you,” Vortex began, and pressed on before First Aid could apologise again. “All that confusion and the… you know... That is, if you’d like me to?” He realised too late that what he’d said was far more cryptic than he’d intended. But First Aid seemed to understand. At least, he nodded. 

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, as his fans began to whir.

Oh scrap, if that wasn’t a come-on, Vortex didn’t know what was. “I’d like to touch you,” he said quietly. “You look so smooth…”

“That would be good,” First Aid responded. He straightened in his seat, but kept his hands tucked out of sight. Unnecessary, Vortex hoped, but perhaps it was for the best. For now, anyway. 

And damn, but the medic really was as smooth as he appeared. The everyday scratches were shallow, his paint couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. He leaned into Vortex’s touch, his energy field as erratic as it had been earlier, and his vocaliser crackling gently. 

Vortex knelt up on the soft cushions, his tail rotors spinning as he trailed his fingers lightly over the treads and rims of First Aid’s shoulder wheels. 

The data stream changed, a thread of frustration woven in with another glimmer of the Protectobot’s arousal. 

“More pressure?” First Aid asked, and Vortex complied. The tires were firm, but with just enough bounce, the treads fun to knead between his fingers. First Aid sighed and slumped little on the seat. 

“You like that?” Vortex asked, and was answered with a light nuzzle of the medic’s cheek on his shoulder, a whispered ‘yes’. He squeezed the tires harder, rotating them a little, revelling in the increasing unevenness of First Aid’s ventilation. 

Then First Aid kissed him, and he lost control of his side of the interface.

It was wonderful. The warm press of lips, the reassuring stream of safety and comfort coming over the connection. Then a tingle of pleasure as First Aid responded to his unseemly burst of energy and his vibrant, desperate need for companionship, for closeness. 

And all the while, the medic kept his hands out of sight. 

They remained that way for some time, indulging in kiss after kiss as the cables hummed between them. Vortex didn’t know how long, and he didn’t care. Long enough for First Aid to end up flat on his back with Vortex leaning over him. For the kisses to grow urgent as the interface revealed gradually more of their shared desire.

He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the slow burn. Not having to rush because it would cut into valuable recharge time, or because they’d snuck a spare half breem before a mission briefing. Or because he was overcharged and over-wrought and simply couldn’t wait.

It was a luxury, and not one he wanted to waste. His team could never begrudge him this; lost in a parallel universe, isolated from them for the first time since the experiments. They would understand about First Aid, he thought, and Blades. He could share his memories, show them how understanding and helpful and giving these mechs were. 

He didn’t allow himself to think about Swindle. He focused on the present, and the medic’s delicious writhing. The little noises he made were so very encouraging. First Aid hooked a foot around one of Vortex’s legs, his axle turning slowly and the rubber of his tire generating a gentle friction against the inside of Vortex’s thigh. 

_You’re wonderful_ , Vortex thought, but hadn’t the focus to clear the glitch from his vocaliser and voice it. Instead, he sent the impulse along the connection, less a thought than a flash of intuition. First Aid smiled against his lips and arched his back to make their pelvic armour meet. 

Then a question in return, muttered against his mouth, “May I touch you?” 

At last! Vortex’s engine revved with approval, and he murmured his assent without breaking the kiss. _This will be fine_ , he thought, _this will be all right_. Then he gasped as First Aid caught hold of the tips of two rotors and began to gently massage the ends. 

Everything dissolved. The room, the base, the planet, even. This universe he didn’t understand and couldn’t leave. There was only the two of them, his vision dominated by the fathomless blue of First Aid’s optics, his frame trembling with every stroke and caress and careful electrical impulse. 

“Thankyou,” he managed. A shudder worked its way up his back struts and emerged as a wholly pleasant shivering of his three unbroken rotor blades. First Aid sighed and pressed against him, his grip tightening, and his energy field flaring in a burst that left Vortex tingling all over. 

“Would you like to…” First Aid didn’t finish the thought, but gave Vortex a shy smile and leaned up to kiss him again. 

Whatever it was, Vortex was sure the answer would be yes. More touching, more kissing, more time to explore the smooth paintwork and solid groundframe armour. Or perhaps a step towards further intimacy; software or hardware, it was all welcome. Anything First Aid wanted would be fine by him. 

But when First Aid rested his helm again on the cushions, his smiling lips framed a new question. “What would _you_ like to do?”

 _Anything?_ Vortex thought. _Everything, as long as it’s with you._ But he couldn’t ask too much. He didn’t want First Aid to feel compelled to agree, whether by politeness or guilt or his inbuilt need to help. And even with the interface showing him snatches of the medic’s enjoyment, pulsing with his very genuine desire to take this further, Vortex had to force himself to answer before his resolve failed. “I’d like us to go somewhere more private,” he said. “But only if that’s what you want.”

First Aid stretched, arching against him again, and smoothed his hands as far down Vortex’s rotors as he could reach. “Of course I do,” he said. 

It wasn’t like with Blades. There was no hurry as Vortex lifted First Aid from the cushions, slow and careful so as not to compromise the connection. A spot of dizziness as he stood, and First Aid clung to him, legs tight about his waist, his every component seeming to vibrate. 

“How about my room?” First Aid suggested. He vented warm air from his helm over one rotor tip. “It’s two down from yours, and the, uh… there’s more space.” 

“Mmmm,” Vortex agreed. Now that he was standing, the stimulation of his rotors and the heat radiating from certain parts of the Protectobot’s anatomy were beginning to have a more noticeable effect. Hydraulic pressure was as high as before, but his legs felt like rubber, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep his other hatches closed. 

Although the base was still empty, it was good to leave the brightness of the rec room behind and enter the cosy gloom of an altogether less public space. The windows were high on the back wall, perpendicular to those of the rec room, and the afternoon sun provided only a soft glow.

Aside from the quality of the light, he paid little attention to the contents of First Aid’s private quarters. There was a recharge station, and that was enough for him. He lay First Aid down, and was immediately drawn into another deep and lingering kiss. 

It was as wonderful as before, as thrilling and charged and comforting as he could have hoped for. And, just as he’d hoped, he was no longer worried about First Aid’s touch. The medic’s hands drifted to his rotor-tips, thumbs circling over the most sensitive of atmospheric detectors. That too was wonderful; each tiny movement prompted a spark of heat elsewhere in his frame, each light caress made synapses fire and wires sing. 

He moaned against the medic’s lips, knelt up between his thighs and felt out each plane and angle of his helm. Then further down – encouraged by the gasps and the wriggling – to his waist, a light touch on his interface panel, a shock of excess charge grounding through his fingers. 

First Aid bucked, pressing his heated spike cover against Vortex’s armour. A pulse of need-want- _now_ seared across the connection, and Vortex’s own hardware thrummed so hard in response that his fans cut out and his audials rang. 

Then a pressure so deft and practiced and utterly, gloriously _perfect_ on his rotors that his systems overloaded instantly in a wonderful flood of heat and pleasure that he could do absolutely nothing to delay. 

And he could do nothing to stop it spilling over the connection. 

First Aid tensed beneath him, fingers wrapped tight around the blades, back still arched. His climax came a moment later, crashing in waves over the interface and searing through Vortex’s overtaxed relays. 

It was amazing. He hadn’t overloaded with only that hardware for longer than he could remember. 

“Oh wow,” he groaned. Or at least he tried to, but First Aid was still kissing him, and his words came out muted and smothered in static. Then the tide of energy and data slowed to a trickle, and drowsiness began to seep in with the joy and satiation. 

Finally, First Aid broke the kiss. “So good,” he said quietly. “Thankyou.” His optics were dim and didn’t look all that focused, but his voice was clear enough. “They’ll be coming back soon.”

“Do you need to…” Vortex glanced in the vague direction of the door. He didn’t want First Aid to go, but duties were duties. 

“No,” First Aid replied, still smiling. He pressed his lips very gently to the corner of Vortex’s mouth, then released his rotors. “I just though you’d like to know. Hold me?” 

Now that was a great idea. Without breaking the connection, Vortex shuffled over and lay on his front. He folded one arm beneath his head, and draped the other over the Protectobot’s chassis. First Aid wrapped the arm more tightly around himself, then curled against Vortex’s side. 

“We could lay here a while,” he said. “I’m not on duty again until morning.”

“Sounds good,” Vortex sighed. He tilted his head to rest against First Aid’s helm. The interface made him feel safe, calm, welcome. In the absence of his team, it was as close as he could get to home.

* * * 

//Hot Spot to First Aid, First Aid come in.//

Vortex yawned. He wasn’t sure, he thought he might have heard the Protectobot commander. He had a moment’s worry that Hot Spot wasn’t pleased about certain recent events. But First Aid was still tucked under Vortex’s arm, his engine idling and that happy smile very firmly in place. 

“Evening,” First Aid whispered, then, //First Aid receiving.//

Vortex smiled back and flexed his rotors. The sensor block was holding up, and the remaining three blades felt good. Sadly, the interface had been disconnected; the little panel on the side of his waist was closed and his cable rolled neatly away. First Aid must have dealt with it after he went into recharge. 

He checked his chronometer; he’d been out for almost four joors. 

//Sorry for waking you,// Hot Spot said. //But there’s something you need to see.// He sounded pleased. //Both of you.//

//Understood,// First Aid replied, and the channel closed. He turned in Vortex’s embrace. “How are you feeling?” he said. 

“Like we ought to get to control?” Vortex said, and First Aid kissed him on the cheek. 

It was a good place for First Aid to kiss him, anywhere else and they never would have left. As it was, they made it to the control room within a quarter of a breem. 

Vortex realised belatedly that he should have stopped to rub himself down, but a quick glance revealed only light scratches. A trace of red on the blue of his spike cover was the only indication anything had occurred. Well, that and the grins that neither of them seemed able to suppress.

Hot Spot gave them both a warm smile, and gestured for them to join him at the main console. 

“Perceptor has some news for us,” he said, and pressed a button to activate the screen. 

It took Vortex a moment to work out what he was seeing. He had expected the Ark’s scientific crew, another warm smile, perhaps, some kind of explanation. But instead the screen showed a grainy monochrome image with a timer of some kind in the lower right corner. Vortex leaned closer; he could make out humans at the bottom. They were pointing, and the thing they were pointing at… It couldn’t be. It was white on the monitor, but Vortex knew from experience it would be a rainbow of colours in life, like oil on water, all rippling and shifting, but glowing too, and emitting a steady iridescence that would flicker from every surface.

“Goodness,” First Aid leant in too, his shoulder bumping gently against Vortex’s arm. Reassuring.

A portal. 

“How long ago?” Vortex said. “Is it still there? Where is it?”

“This is real time,” Hot Spot said. “Or close enough. There’s a delay of two point seven astroseconds. It’s a feed from a security camera in Mesa, Arizona. The portal has been active roughly two breems, and shows a stable energy signature. It shouldn’t close any time soon.”

“How far away is that?” Vortex said. He rolled his shoulders and ran a check on his root mode flight capability. He wouldn’t have time for First Aid to fit his new rotor blade; he’d have to take his chances without his alt mode. “May I take on fuel before I go?”

“There’s time,” Hot Spot said. 

On screen, a car rolled into view. Non-sentient transport, a human-made vehicle. The doors opened and uniformed organics stepped out. They began gesturing for the other humans to stay back. 

“First, we need to secure the area,” Hot Spot continued. “Ironhide, Jazz and Slingshot are _en route_. But while we do that, there’s time for you…” But Hot Spot trailed off, his attention drawn back to the screen. 

The portal had begun to fluctuate. Gradually at first, then expanding and contracting in ever-increasing frequency until the light strobed and the watching humans were moved to shield their eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Vortex said. First Aid leaned closer, his energy field resonating with patience, calm. All for Vortex’s benefit, he knew, and he was grateful. But scrap, that was his way back home, it had to stay open and let him through. His ember ached with an intensity that was nothing short of agonising; he _needed_ to go home. 

He heard the control room door slide open, saw another mech enter in his peripheral vision. It was Blades, and he was glad of that as well. But he couldn’t tear his optics from the screen. 

Nothing happened. 

“False alarm,” Hot Spot said, the cheerfulness back in his voice. “Looks like it’s just the way these things work. Vortex, how about you refuel and we can get you in the air. Skyfire’s on his way to fly you to the portal. He’s due in just over two breems.” 

“I can fly myself,” Vortex said, but First Aid nudged him again on the arm. 

“If you did,” he said, “I wouldn’t be able to come say goodbye. And besides, Skyfire’s far quicker. Now, let’s get you fuelled.”

Vortex nodded, and for a moment the homesickness clashed head-on with the apprehension that he would genuinely and painfully miss these mechs. 

Then the portal flared a searing white and an object hurtled through. It crashed into the tarmac, crushing the humans’ vehicle and digging great gouges out of the ground. 

“Oh frag,” Blades swore. “That ain’t good.”

Vortex spun back to the screen, his ventilation seizing and his engine stalled. 

The object came to a halt some way from the portal. A mass of grey, it appeared to gleam in places, covered all over with a liquid that Vortex’s logic circuits told him should be a bright and glowing pink. The uniformed humans raised their guns; the other humans began to back away, some raising weapons of their own. 

“Oh no,” Vortex said, as the mass unfolded. It stood and shook itself. The ragged stumps of rotors spun, spraying pale fluid in a grotesque arc. An arm raised, a Gatling gun discharged. Vortex shuddered; there was no mistaking who that was. 

He could imagine the screams as the humans fled, the cruel laughter as this universe’s Vortex fired on them. 

Then the… _other_ copter swayed and fell to one knee, his arm still raised, gun ready. But the bullets had dried up. He fumbled with the comm equipment on his arm. There was no telling what he said; the image was too poor for Vortex to read his lips. 

One of the Protectobots spoke, but Vortex wasn’t listening. His tanks churned and his own guns buzzed. If he had to shoot his way home, he would. And happily. 

The copter on screen snapped his comm shut, lips curving in a smile that shook Vortex to his very core. 

Then the portal closed.


	19. Chapter 19

“It’s gone.” Vortex shook his head. “It can’t be gone.”

“There’ll be another one,” First Aid said, but his words hardly registered. What about his team back home? What had the other copter done to them? That vile parody of a smile, he wanted to punch it off the other copter's face.

“All right,” Hot Spot said. “Time to refuel, all three of you. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.” 

“C’mon,” Blades said. He lay a careful hand on Vortex’s rotor hub and steered him towards the door. 

“But…”

“No buts.” Blades increased the pressure, and Vortex could do nothing but comply. 

“Don’t hit the sensor block,” First Aid warned as they neared the second floor. The clang of their footsteps on the stairs put Vortex in mind of cell doors locking. 

“I’m being careful,” Blades said. “OK, rec room or roof?”

“Rec room,” First Aid said, before Vortex could fathom a response. “You two get settled, I’ll get some energon.”

“Bring us the stuff in the small cubes,” Blades said. “The stronger the better.”

“Good plan,” Vortex muttered. He could do with some high grade right about now. And a new rotor, and his glue gun, and a very big net. Too late, he realised his energy field was broadcasting hostility, and he tried to rein it in. Thankfully, Blades didn’t take offence. 

“Should sit down,” Blades said. He rubbed the top of Vortex’s arm, knuckles brushing the side of his auxiliary engine. “We’ll refuel, then we’ll be ready as soon as the portal opens again.”

“It might not,” Vortex said, but he sat anyway. He took the middle seat, and Blades flumped down beside him.

“Sure it will,” Blades said. He quirked a grin. “And if it takes a while, well… I’m sure we can find something to-” he stopped, his grin widening. “Wow, I knew something was going on, but I didn’t expect that.”

Vortex followed the direction of his gaze and promptly wished he’d put his battle mask back on. “Um,” he said. But there was no explaining away the scrape of First Aid’s red paint on his spike cover; it was what it was. “How much did you, um…”

Blades laughed. “Want the honest truth?” he said. “I thought Aid had got a bit frustrated and locked himself in that closet in medbay again.”

The rec room door swooshed open. “Oh you did, did you?” First Aid said. His arms were full, the glow of energon staining his armour pink. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Blades said quietly.

“But it’ll be the last you get to know about it,” First Aid teased. “Here, mid grade all round. It feels like a day for it.”

“Awwwww,” Blades complained, while Vortex nodded his thanks and accepted the offered cube. “I was hoping for something a bit more potent,” Blades said. “Medicinal and all.”

“I can fetch you some medical grade if you like,” First Aid offered, making a feint for the door.

“Oh frag no!” Blades hugged his cube to his chest. 

Vortex couldn’t help but smile. Staying a while longer wouldn’t be too bad, he thought, as long as he had their company. He took a sip of his energon, and the touch of the liquid against his glossa made him realise just how thirsty he was. 

“There’s more where that came from,” First Aid said. He settled on the other side of Vortex to Blades, and watched as Vortex drained the entire cube. “Shall we watch TV? There’s a documentary about the deep oceans on in about five minutes, all kinds of arthropods and jellyfishes and things. Some of them use bioluminescence.”

“Jelly-whats?” Vortex said, but Blades had already hit the remote. Not that Blades seemed all that interested in the moving pictures, and he didn’t bother to turn up the sound. 

“Jellyfish,” First Aid said. He set his cube aside and curled up against Vortex. He was so warm, and nice, and his energy field emitted that same calm comfort it had earlier. It was a contrast to Blades, whose signature pulsed with anticipation and amusement. “A type of marine invertebrate,” First Aid explained. “They’re really neat.”

“If you like that kinda thing,” Blades said. He turned in his seat to face Vortex, his arm along the top of the backrest. He was still grinning. “If it makes you feel better, looks like the psycho had a rough ride in your ‘verse.”

“Yeah,” Vortex said, although he wasn’t sure it did make him feel better. He had the niggling suspicion that the evil Vortex might take it out on Swindle. And he didn’t want to think about the consequences should anyone start talking about Swindle’s escapades with the impostor. 

“Could you?” First Aid leaned over Vortex’s lap, gesturing at the remote. 

“Sure,” Vortex replied, but Blades was faster. Calculating too, using it as an excuse to get closer. Not that Vortex was complaining. Sandwiched between the two of them, their energy fields tingling gently against his, their engines spreading a subtle vibration through his frame, he finally started to relax.

Then First Aid turned up the volume, and Blades began to idly stroke the tip of one of Vortex’s rotors.

* * *

To Vortex's disappointment, Blades didn't press any further. He didn’t talk over the documentary either, despite that his energy field registered no desire whatsoever to sit still. His restlessness was infectious, his touch relentless, and Vortex grew more and more curious about Blades’ thoughts concerning himself and First Aid.

He didn’t say anything though, he just watched the screen and tried to keep up with the narration. So many references he didn’t get, so many things he didn’t know and probably never would if the portal opened again soon and he could go home. But the images _were_ intriguing. Creatures the colour of energon, animals which looked like a bag of LEDs, an ocean that looked like a galaxy. 

Blades disentangled himself briefly to fetch some high grade, and First Aid – surprisingly – didn’t object. Aid even drank a little, although nowhere near as much as Blades encouraged him to. 

Vortex drank more than a little. He wanted the edge taken off the world, the corners softened. And maybe some more of that rotor petting. No, scratch the ‘maybe’. He _definitely_ wanted more of the rotor petting. 

Happily, a gentle flick of his rotors against the soft seatback was enough to encourage Blades to get back to it. Vortex’s engine purred, the restlessness rapidly transforming into drowsiness as his systems diverted resources to process the high grade, and the excess energy blurred his thoughts. 

He barely noticed when First Aid turned off the TV, nor when the medic fell into recharge beside him, his knee hooked over Vortex’s leg, and his hands tucked down out of sight. 

“Should we…” Vortex began, then regretted speaking. He didn’t actually want to move, least of all to end up alone in his room. 

“Help me,” Blades said, and got shakily to his feet. He must have had more to drink than Vortex had noticed, but he managed to scoop First Aid up in his arms and stagger unsteadily to the door. “I can’t get the controls.”

That might have been a lie, but Vortex didn’t care. At least he was being useful. He hauled air through his vents, yawning to regain a little clarity. 

Slowly, they got First Aid into his room. He didn’t wake, and Vortex lingered by the door. Blades would probably stay, but there was always the chance he might want to go back to the rec room and –

“You comin’ over here or what?” Blades said. 

“Um…” Vortex glanced at First Aid. He lay on his side, utterly peaceful and completely out of it. 

“He's good with it,” Blades said, and dimmed the lights. “We’re not leaving you on your own tonight, we already decided.” 

They had? “Whu-” Vortex began, but Blades swayed on over to the door and leant heavily on the control pad. 

“Not gonna say it’s doctor’s orders,” Blades said. “But we both want you with us.” 

“OK,” Vortex said, before he could talk himself out of it. Blades wouldn’t lie, especially not about his team mate’s wishes. And the bed looked just as inviting as it had several joors ago when he’d carried First Aid into the room, the two of them connected and heated and… Vortex moved out of the doorway, allowing the door to close, and allowed Blades to manoeuvre him onto the soft foam. 

As the padding shifted, adjusting itself to their weight, First Aid stirred. His optics booted, briefly, a smile formed on his lips. Then he sank back into recharge, and Vortex sighed as Blades sprawled out beside them.

* * *

He awoke in a panic two joors later. His processors spun, his mind crowded with thoughts of this universe’s Vortex, of the portals and his team and the worry that he’d never be able to go home.

“Hey,” First Aid whispered. His optics booted, visor a pale blur in the dark. “Bad defrag?” 

Vortex nodded. “I don’t get it,” he said softly. “How come he came back, but I’m still here?”

First Aid smiled. “Because you’re not the same person?” he suggested. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go home, but… I’m glad you’re staying with us just a little longer.” 

_How long?_ Vortex thought, but he couldn’t say it. He wasn’t glad he was staying, but he _was_ glad of their company. There was nowhere on this strange and alien world he would rather be. He managed a weak smile. “It’s good to be with you,” he said. 

Behind him, Blades stirred, then slung an arm across his waist. First Aid rolled closer and kissed the edge of his helm. 

“We could make it even better,” Blades suggested. His energy field appeared reigned in, fainter than it should have been, but his desire was clear. 

“If you'd like us to,” First Aid added. 

The panic ebbed as Vortex's energy field morphed to mimic Blades' arousal. “Are you sure?” he said.

“Of course.” First Aid nestled closer. He was warming quickly, and it was no surprise to hear his fans start up. “May I touch you?”

Vortex nodded. He tried to speak, but his vocaliser was in neutral. Blades' hands probably had something to do with that. Light pressure on his rotor hinges, and on the back of his thigh just above his knee, tracing the seam, moving slowly upwards. 

First Aid wriggled down on his back, encouraging Vortex to lean over him. It was like earlier, but without the warm and comforting connection to join them. His hands moved through Vortex's energy field, spreading ripples, and causing little sparks of pleasure where they lit on the sensor-laden metal of his throat and the intakes of his vents. 

“This might be obvious,” First Aid said softly. “But we'd like to interface with you, both of us. Would you like to?”

“Might be?” Blades sounded amused, but he paused with his hand between Vortex's legs, just below his aft. 

Vortex tried to resist squirming to force the hand higher. He smiled, his panic forgotten. “I would love to,” he said, and laughed as First Aid pulled him into a tender and very welcome kiss. 

Blades hummed his approval, and slid his hand higher. Vortex obligingly parted his thighs, coolant thundering through his lines. It was an exquisite contrast; First Aid's smooth lips and slow, gentle caress, with Blades' rougher, teasing touch. It went on forever, four hands on his frame, raising sparks and charge, and making every last part of him melt and shiver. 

“Connect us?” First Aid suggested, and Vortex was about to lean up to free one of his hands, but Blades held him in place. The sudden force made him shudder, and First Aid moaned against him. He couldn't see the cause at first, then Blades hooked him up to the medic's cable, and unspooled his own. 

Connected, it was so much more intense. Blades nipped the back of his neck, and began to stroke his rotors again. First Aid flashed the kind of wicked smile Vortex would never have thought he was capable of, and took the tip of one of Vortex's tail rotors into his mouth. 

“Oh wow.” It was all so much. Not too much, oh no, although Vortex hoped it would escalate to 'too much' given time, but the amount of input, the arousal, the pleasure prompted by each touch and stroke and lick, it was wonderful. He transmitted it back across the connection, feeling it loop through them both, adding to the matrix of their individual experiences, and there was something beneath it all too, something familiar and alien and thoroughly incomprehensible. 

It could only have been the Protectobot gestalt bond, and the realisation brought on such a surge of homesickness and longing that Vortex would have begun again to panic had First Aid not taken charge of the interface. Homesickness gave way to comfort, longing to desire. 

“We'll get you back to them,” First Aid whispered. “Don't worry.” He stared up into Vortex's optics and ran his tongue the full length of one tail rotor. The thrill stole the strength from Vortex's arms and the air from his vents. 

Blades revved his engine. “That feel good?” he said, while Vortex could only nod helplessly and First Aid did it again. “I wanna see you spike him,” he said, and Vortex thought he might collapse. “He'd like that, wouldn't you, Aid?”

First Aid sucked gently on the end of the small blade. “Uh-huh,” he agreed, while the connection glowed with a resounding 'yes'. 

Vortex let Blades rearrange him. First Aid drew his knees apart, and stretched out. He kept one hand tangled in the tail rotors, gripping and stroking. Blades guided the other to Vortex's spike housing, and the rush of pressurisation was made even better by the fact that First Aid maintained eye contact throughout. 

It was stunningly intimate. The two of them eased Vortex's covers back; Blades stroked around the rim of his valve, making his energy field flare against the cluster of nodes. 

“Now you, Aid,” Blades said, and Vortex arched his back to give Blades access between his gestaltmate's legs. First Aid moaned, and his optics dulled. Then his hand tightened around Vortex's spike as his covers drew back and Blades slowly slid a finger inside him. “He's wanted you since the day you came here,” Blades said. “Give me your hand.”

Vortex leaned up enough to free one arm. Blades withdrew, prompting a moan of mock-disappointment from First Aid. He guided Vortex's hands. 

“Just one to start,” he said, stroking Vortex's fingers with his own, making them slick. “That's it.”

First Aid was unbelievably tight, and beautifully willing. He conveyed his pleasure via the connection and a charming and increasingly loud progression of gasps and groans. 

“Now another,” Blades said, and Vortex slid a second finger inside, feeling the gears shift and the nodes spark. “Now stroke here,” Blades instructed, and the knowledge of exactly where 'here' was came through the interface.

First Aid bucked, his optics blazing and his knees spreading wider apart. 

“Don't you love how he feels?” Blades whispered. “Keep going, we wanna take him all the way. Get him nice and relaxed so he can take your spike.”

Vortex nodded, unable to convey anything vocally but the most rudimentary indication of pleasure. Scrap, but he wanted his spike where his fingers were. But he also wanted to keep his fingers there, it felt so good. Low ridges caressed the sensitive tips, and the making and breaking of circuits as he stroked the clusters of nodes sent thrills all through his body. 

“That's it,” Blades growled, as the charge soared and First Aid tensed. “Oh frag yes!” The medic's climax flooded the connection, making Blades shiver and Vortex moan. Keeping his fingers in place the better to enjoy the aftershocks, Vortex leant down to kiss First Aid's lips.

“Thankyou,” the medic said, and returned the kiss with a fresh burst of passion. “That was so, _so_ good. Mmmm!” He clenched around Vortex's fingers, making the sensors ripple. 

“It felt like it,” Blades commented. He went back to stroking Vortex's rotors, while First Aid squirmed down the bunk a little to get a better grip on his spike. 

“You're amazing,” Vortex said, and First Aid's smile widened. 

“Spike me,” he said, as he slid his hand from base to tip. “I want you in me.”

Blades sent a pulse of his own arousal through the interface, and Vortex's engine roared. He withdrew his fingers, his sensors still buzzing from the conducive film of lubricant, and First Aid tugged him closer. 

“Now?” Vortex said, relishing the chance to tease as much as he had been teased. First Aid nodded, and rocked his hips.

Blades got behind Vortex, sliding a hand between his legs again, fondling the base of his spike. 

“Now,” Blades confirmed. 

First Aid opened for him perfectly, so smooth and slick. Vortex gave a gentle thrust, and First Aid wrapped his arms around Vortex's neck, somehow managing to grab the shaft of one of his rotor blades. 

“Keep it nice and slow,” Blades said. “Frag, you two look good.” His own spike extended, Vortex could feel it through the interface. Then Blades' hand shifted, and his thumb coasted over Vortex's bare valve. 

Vortex tried to cycle open, to encourage Blades inside him. But it was so hard to focus, especially while he was moving, and with First Aid squeezing his rotor and his spike, and whispering hot encouragement.

“Feeling empty?” Blades said. 

Vortex groaned his response. He'd never felt emptier in his life. 

Blades circled his thumb, keeping the touch light despite Vortex's constant movement. “You want me?”

“Yes!” Vortex heaved for air, his fans struggling. “Oh frag yes.”

First Aid's approval was clear, as he encouraged Vortex to pause just long enough for Blades to push inside him.

If he'd thought it was intense before, it was a shadow compared to now. Blades took him slowly, letting him build up the pace again, making sure he felt every bit as full as he was. The connection blazed with their enjoyment, every sensation shared, every thrill amplified. 

Overload built with time, a gradual increase in heat and tension and charge until climax was inevitable. It wasn't simultaneous, but sequential, and all the more enjoyable for it. 

Afterwards, they didn't so much disengage as further entangle themselves. Wrapped in the live cables of their continued interface, First Aid nuzzled his way under Vortex's arm while Blades rather optimistically straddled his hips. 

A fresh heat bloomed, and First Aid's pleased amusement echoed through the cables. 

Blades flared his rotors and stroked Vortex back to full pressure. He grinned. “My turn.”

* * *

In the soft light of their optics, everything was blue. It was cool and calming, like the fresh breeze from the air conditioning, and the enduring waves of satisfied-comfort-safe that came even though the interface had long since been disconnected.

It had been a good night. Not a particularly restful night, although the recharge Vortex had achieved had been deep and free of nightmares. He'd even managed not to worry about Swindle, or about his team mates back home, four fifths of a gestalt with no idea where their fifth had gone. 

First Aid stirred, still sprawled across Vortex's chest. To his right, Blades lay face-down, rotors turning slowly. He stretched. 

“Feeling better?” Blades asked. 

Vortex grinned. He opened his mouth to answer, but his comm began to ping. 

Oh frag. Swindle. 

“What is it?” First Aid leaned up, peering at Vortex's arm. “Oh my.”

“Brazen little punk,” Blades commented. “I'll give him that. You want me to take him out for you?”

“Uh... I... No, um...” Vortex didn't want First Aid to move; he didn't want to destroy the peace and calm and quiet promise of a morning with these Protectobots. But it was Swindle. His team ma... _Not_ his team mate. The mech who tried to abduct him. The mech who hurt him and would doubtless hurt him again if he answered the comm. The mech who was probably being used as bait by the evil Vortex to trap him. “I should have blocked his frequency.”

First Aid shuffled up Vortex's chassis and tapped a code into his comm. The beeping stopped. “All right,” he said. “You need more rest, and you.” He turned to Blades. “You need to help me with this.” 

Blades chuckled as First Aid gently kissed Vortex on the cheek, then began to stroke his tail rotors. 

Vortex sighed. He wasn't confident it would help him rest, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

* * *


	20. Chapter 20

“You're thinking again,” Blades teased. “You gotta stop that.” He and Vortex sat on the roof, the mid morning Sun hot on their backs. First Aid was absent, busy making adjustments to Vortex's new parts down in medbay. 

Despite the Protectobots' best efforts, Swindle's failed communication remained at the forefront of Vortex's thoughts. He tried to banish it with the euphoria of the previous night, and the repeat performance after his rotor massage that morning, but it stuck with him regardless. 

“Can't help it,” he said. “Wish I knew my team were OK.”

Blades leaned back, staring up at the clouds. “If they're anything like you, they can look after themselves.”

“But what if he pretended to be me? What if that... What if he hurt them?”

“What if he didn't even end up in your universe?” Blades countered. “There's nothing you can do about it until you go back, and worrying isn't going to help anyone. You saw the state of him, is that something your team would do?”

“Frag no!” Vortex shuddered. “Well... I would, if he hurt them. If he did anything to them I'll find a way back here, I'll kill him.”

Blades gave him a gentle bump with his helm. “I'm with you. Don't tell Aid though, he'd give me that look. The disappointed look.”

“Brawl's got one of those.” Vortex sighed. “He'll just sit there and sigh a little and make this face.” He stopped before his vocaliser could crackle. 

“It's OK,” Blades said quietly. He shuffled closer, bringing their shoulders together and sliding his rotors in beside Vortex's. “If it was me I'd be climbing the walls by now.”

Vortex coughed the static away and opened his mouth to reply, but his internal comm pinged and Hot Spot's calm voice overrode him.

“Blades, First Aid, Vortex, report to entry bay ASAP. We have another portal. I repeat, we have another portal.”

“Received,” Blades replied, then, “Come on!” He grabbed Vortex by the hand and launched them both at the door back into HQ. “Frag, I don't want you to go,” he said as they took the stairs two at a time, “but I wanna get you back to your team.”

Vortex squeezed his hand, not trusting himself to respond. Couldn't they come with him? Just for a little while? His team – his faction – would welcome them with open arms. 

He came to a halt in the open space of the ground floor. Hot Spot, Streetwise and Groove were already assembled, First Aid was hurrying down the stairs. 

“How far are we going?” Blades asked. “Aid hasn't fixed his new rotors yet, he's not flight capable.”

“Skyfire is coming to meet us,” Hot Spot said. “We'll use the parking lot at the old timber yard, he can land there. Are we ready?” He gave Vortex a fond smile, and Vortex nodded. “All right,” he said, and the front of the building began to fold itself away. “First Aid reassures me that your root mode flight systems will be fine for a short journey? Good. Protectobots, transform and roll out!”

It was strange flying root mode above Hot Spot, while Blades hovered above and to the rear. Streetwise went first, siren wailing, heading the odd little column. Non-sentient vehicles pulled aside to let them pass, and human pilots and passengers rolled down windows and opened doors to get a better look. Some took photos, and Vortex scanned them for the child who had been so excited about him an aeon ago when he had first flown here. 

Was he going home? He tried not to think about it, but it was either that or Swindle, or how badly he would miss Blades and First Aid when he did finally get to go home. Their touch was still a buzz in his energy field, his ember humming with the echo of their presence. He swallowed and looked around at the human city, the strange mesh of fabricated and grown, at the plants and the people and the animals. It could be his last glimpse of this alien world, or he could be back in an hour, a day. If the portal closed without him. 

“Nearly there!” Blades called. “I can see Skyfire!”

Vortex looked up, trying to spot the shuttle. He didn't see the dark grey blur springing from the shade of an old building to his right. 

Groove yelled; the convoy screeched to a halt. First Aid yelled at Blades not to fire, they could hit _their_ Vortex. 

Vortex had a hard time processing this. It wasn't easy, what with the tarmac crunching against the side of his head, and the clinging weight rolling them over to put itself on top. He used his damaged rotors as a pivot, rolling with the momentum, and slung them over. A low hiss was the thing's response, a flash of red from a cracked visor. 

“You don't deserve to go back,” the other Vortex snarled. The Sun glinted on the ragged stumps of rotors, on something sharper in the grey mech's hand. 

Vortex brought their heads together in a crunch, and made a grab for the other's wrist. He was still sticky, dirty; no-one had repaired him, no-one had even hosed him down. The rush of pity was sickening, but it did nothing to douse Vortex's rage. This was the mech who had abused Swindle, this was the mech who enjoyed hurting, killing, who could have done anything at all on the other side of the portal. 

Shouts mingled with laser fire, but it was distant and unreal. Vortex got in a hit that made the evil grey slagger reel, and he punched and kicked and bucked until his energy field was free and clear, and his armour no longer pierced and scratched by those unnecessary claws. 

He scooted back, lurching to his feet. The other Vortex rose, grinning through a sheen of energon, spinning the damaged stumps of his blades. 

“You took what was mine,” he said. “You said you were me. You shouldn't have done that.”

“What was yours?” Vortex gaped. “What was _yours?_ ” In the background the shouting had died down, the lasers stilled. First Aid called something, but Vortex wasn't listening. He launched himself at the cruel parody of a reflection. 

The grey rotary met him full force, a whirl of fists and claws. His energy field blazed, all jealousy and rage, and hatred as fierce as anything Vortex had ever felt. 

“You're never going home,” the grey rotary growled. He made a grab for Vortex's throat and missed. “You're coming with me.”

“Frag you!” Vortex spat. He caught a punch aimed for his face with his shoulder and felt something wrench inside. 

“Is that all you've got?” The red visor glowed, sharp teeth glinted. “You're gonna rust here, and your team's never going to know what happened to you.”

“My team...” Vortex leapt, powering his thrusters. “You don't get to talk about my team!” He lunged forward, catching the other around the middle and barrelling him into the ground. The grey Vortex writhed, laughing, his claws edging into the seams on Vortex's chest. 

Then a shadow fell over them and he froze. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Hot Spot said, the muzzle of his gun resting on the grey rotary's helm. “First Aid, Blades, take our Vortex and make sure he isn't hurt. Skyfire, Groove, Streetwise, let Blast Off approach.” 

Vortex's fist itched. Just one more punch, just one more and he could knock that evil slagger's lights out. Just one more, but Blades was pulling him upright and First Aid was already checking him over, and the other Vortex just lay there, that stupid nasty grin on his face, looking up at Hot Spot like he didn't have a care in the world. 

“I know, buddy,” Blades whispered. “Universe would be a better place if we just killed him.”

“Blades,” Hot Spot warned, before nudging the evil Vortex with his foot. “Get up, go with your team mate. We have a ceasefire, you will honour it or I will shoot you.”

“I'd rather you just shot him,” a voice rumbled, and for a second Vortex thought it was his own gestaltmate stepping into view. But this Blast Off was the wrong colour, the wrong temperament, the wrong everything. He made a sound of utter disgust as he hauled his rotary off the floor. “Don't drip on me,” he said, and the evil Vortex giggled as Blast Off threw him over one shoulder and stalked away.

First Aid adjusted the sensor block on Vortex's rotor hub, and gave him a quick nuzzle. “You'll do,” he said. “You'll have a competent medic back home who can fix you properly?”

“Sure, I... Yeah...” He looked from Blades to Hot Spot. “The portal,” he said. 

“It's still open,” Skyfire said. He patted Hot Spot on the shoulder, then stepped away a little and transformed. “Perceptor says it's stable, if we're quick we should make it.”

* * *

The portal shimmered, a sheen of iridescence over the lapping tide of the Arctic beach. Blobby brown organics rolled on the sands, and frost glittered from the rocks and the few short plants. Vortex clung to First Aid, relishing his warmth. Blades hugged them both, as Groove grinned happily at them and Streetwise smiled, and Skyfire held a hushed conversation with Hot Spot a discreet distance away.

“I'll miss you,” First Aid said, and Vortex nodded into the crook of his neck. “We'll all miss you.”

“Sure will,” Blades said. He drew back, regret in his energy field. “We don't wanna stand here so long the portal closes.”

“We're sure it goes to the right place?” First Aid said.

“Perceptor says yes,” Skyfire called. “Right place, right time.”

First Aid nodded, his visor bright. “Take my gun,” he said to Vortex. “Just in case.”

Vortex nodded, clipping the weapon to his hip. “Thankyou,” he said, and it was a poor substitute for everything he wanted to say. “I'll think of you often.”

“I bet you will.” Blades grinned and First Aid gave him a look. 

“Be safe,” Hot Spot said.

Vortex nodded, and stepped out into the surf.

* * *

**Epilogue**

The portal threw him out in the neutral zone, a short root mode flight from home. A lone flier grubbed for spares in the trash; a turbo-rat sat on the stump of a ruin, chewing wires. Neither looked up as he passed overhead.

He went through the automated security checks in a daze; everything ached, from the crack in his visor to his landing wheels. His ember pulsed erratically, and his programming felt like it was going through a soft reboot. 

Then the reset completed, and the gestalt programming came back online. His team was close. They were alive, praise Cybertron they were alive! He fought for their exact locations, their states of mind, for a full opening of the bond. It was too slow. When Security finished with him, he bounded into the corridor and sped through the base.

It was empty, not unusual for this time of day what with training and maintenance and all manner of things to be done. Still, it was disconcerting, and Vortex was glad when Security let him into Onslaught's office and he could breath in the familiar scent of metal polish and good quality oil. 

He sank into Onslaught's chair, and waited.

He awoke to a shout.

“Where were you? We were worried sick!”

Vortex didn't have the chance to speak; his face was crushed to Onslaught's chest, and his ember howled with relief at the sudden and complete reignition of the gestalt bond. 

Onslaught let him go, and spun him around. “Medbay, quick march,” he said. “Blast Off and Brawl will meet us there. Swindle was out looking for you, but he's coming home now.” 

“I got caught in a portal,” Vortex said. “It was all light and shimmery and stuff, and then... yeah. It was weird.”

“OK weird, or bad and wrong we need to talk to Motormaster about therapy weird?”

“Bit of both,” Vortex said with a smile. He paused by the door. “I got caught in that place Red Cliffjumper came from. I met some people there, good people. They looked out for me.” 

“Did they now?” The look Onslaught gave him was frank. “And the damage?” he said. 

“I ran into evil me,” Vortex said. “I didn't like him much.” 

“I can't imagine you did,” Onslaught said, pushing Vortex gently out of the door and a little closer to medbay. 

Vortex took a deep vent; it was now or never. Well, technically it was now or some nebulous point in the future where owning up to his faults would be even harder. He looked up at Onslaught. “I ended up in their Decepticons' base,” he said. “I kinda was um intimate with the evil Swindle. Um.”

There was a moment of silence before Onslaught responded. “Do I need to punch a hole into the alternate universe and thump him in the face?”

“Uh, no... I kinda started it. He thought I was his team mate.” Vortex buried his face in his hands. As he didn't stop walking, Onslaught put a hand on his back to steer him. “The bond was glitching,” Vortex said, trying not to think about exactly how bad it had glitched and the ways that had backfired. “Then their Swindle found out, and he commend me, and by that time I was with the good Protectobots, and-”

“Protectobots?” Onslaught said, his tone as cold as the glacier Skyfire had so recently flown over.

“ _Good_ Protectobots!” Vortex cried. “Cliffjumper's Protectobots. They're good people. But what I'm trying to say is that the bad Swindle found out who I really am and then we faced over comms and I didn't want you to find out over the bond, I wanted to tell you, frag I'm sorry.”

“You're glossing over the part where there were Protectobots,” Onslaught said.

“ _Good_ Protectobots,” Vortex insisted. “You're not upset about the other Swindle?”

Onslaught steered him around a corner, into the scent of disinfectant and the soft resonant harmonies of Hook's crystal arrangements. “A little,” he admitted, “but I'm not angry and I don't blame you.” 

Vortex nodded, and tried to shake the shame from his energy field.

Onslaught sat down beside him. “I'm just glad you're home.”

* * *

**Back in Red Cliffjumper's universe**  


“So let me get this straight,” Vortex said. “You didn't know I was missing?”

Blast Off gave the energy field equivalent of a shrug. “I presumed you were in the brig. I thought it was unusually quiet.”

“Thanks.” Vortex lay back, and listened to the drip of his vital fluids on Blast Off's cargo hold floor.

* * *

Brawl leant against the newly repaired wall of Combaticon HQ and picked the grit out of his knuckles with a Bowie knife. The Constructicons weren't quite finished, but all the holes had been patched and it was better out here in the sun than down on the underwater base with Grumpytron and Starscream.

Sure, his TV hadn't yet been reconnected, but who needed TV when there was live entertainment?

Swindle pinged him for the third time in about twenty astroseconds. //Help me you slaggin' spawn of a trash compactor, for frag sake help me!// 

Brawl counted to three before he heard the wine of Swindle's engine and the Jeep came bounding across the desert floor, sand spraying and expletives flying. Brawl saw the bump before Swindle did, and winced as his team mate hit it at a higher gear than he really ought. Swindle transformed, turning the frag-up into a decent mid-air roll, and landed in a brief crouch before he was off again, sprinting through the sand. 

Brawl laughed to himself, and flicked a rock from his hand. Vortex wasn't far behind, newly repaired and gleaming in the warm desert light. That was three times around the base so far. Brawl gave them another three, maybe four, before Onslaught got annoyed with the noise and came out to put a stop to it.

“Nononononono BRAWL!”

Brawl wandered around the side of the building. “Take a wrong turn?” he said, and Swindle shot him the dirtiest look. Vortex simply grinned, and advanced on his cornered pray. 

“Now now,” Swindle said, hands up and palms facing out. He took another step back and juddered, his spare tyre bouncing on the wall. “I think we all need to get a little perspective here!”

“You think?” Vortex said. He slapped one hand on the wall above Swindle's shoulder. “And what is it I should get some perspective on?”

“I thought he was you!” Swindle wailed. “I thought you were pulling some kinda mindfrag, I... I got some of that nice high grade you like, how about you put the claws away and we can sit down like civilised bots and-”

Vortex loomed, and Brawl thought about putting the knife away. He didn't think Vortex really would kill Swindle, but there was a line between a well-deserved roughing up, and damage that would get them all in trouble. 

“Now come on,” Swindle said. “It's really not that big a deal. You don't need to... do...” He swallowed as Vortex withdrew his mask. 

“Don't I?” Vortex was smiling. He pressed closer, and even Brawl could hear the whoosh of Swindle's fans starting up. 

Swindle's hands balled to fists and he coughed. “We can talk about this.”

“Oh no,” Vortex said softly, and Brawl had to strain to hear him as he whispered, “I think the time for talking is over. I think it's time for a demonstration.”

Swindle vented deep, and went to speak, but the words fizzed and died in his vocaliser as Vortex pressed a claw to his lips. 

“You're mine,” he whispered, and did the unthinkable. 

Brawl stared. He'd been expecting a little rough treatment, a crack or two in Swindle's windshield, a few holes in his secondary energon lines. He hadn't been expecting a kiss. And he certainly wasn't expecting what followed. 

Neither was Swindle by the look of things.

“But what...” Swindle began as Vortex hoisted him up the wall, wrapping his legs around his waist. The mech clung, squirming as Vortex nibbled his throat. “Why... you never... before.” He gasped, tensing, and Brawl could only guess what Vortex was doing with his free hand. 

“Before,” Vortex said, so quietly Brawl almost missed it, “I thought you were playing me.”

Swindle tried to protest, but whatever it was Vortex was doing to him turned his words to static.

Vortex brushed a thumb over the panel on Swindle's hip, and it came immediately open. “I think it's time for a new approach,” he said, smoothing his hand through the cables. "Don't you?"

Laughing to himself, Brawl found a rock to sit on, and settled down to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for reading, I hope you enjoyed it <3
> 
> If you'd like to know what happened to evil Vortex in the SG world, this is the fic to read: http://archiveofourown.org/works/507824
> 
> Linking it here because it's not showing up as an inspired work. Not sure why. Anyway, best to read the warnings before the fic.
> 
> ETA - there's also an extension to the Epilogue [showing what happened next to Vortex and Swindle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7572991).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Adventures of Mirrorverse Vortex: Interlude I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/289498) by [naboru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru)




End file.
